The Skywalker Prophecy: Hope and Darkness
by Darth-Lex
Summary: Second in AU OT trilogy with H-L, L-M, A-P, two OC Skywalker kids, a revived Sith menace, and more! COMPLETE
1. Prologue with Author's Note

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: _**_The Skywalker Prophecy_ is an epic-scale story that ultimately will encompass AU versions of Episodes IV, V, and VI of the saga of Anakin Skywalker and his family.  As with this story's prequel, _A Destiny Renewed_, the AU retelling of ANH (also posted at this site), some of the broad plots arcs in _Hope and Darkness_ will be familiar from ESB; others will be very different.  Like the movies, some characters play more pivotal roles at certain times, while others predominate in different sequences, and the story will contain considerable drama/angst and a good deal of romance/mush in addition to heavy doses of fun action sequences.  It is my sincere hope you will find this story as entertaining to read as it is for me to write.  

And so we continue with _Episode V: Hope and Darkness_.

**Episode V: Hope and Darkness**

**PROLOGUE**

_Six months after the Republic's victory against great odds in the Battle of the Trade Spine, the Galactic Senate remains paralyzed by the Vyhrragian crisis in the Mid Rim.  Notwithstanding the failure of the New Justice movement to abide by the terms of the Accord signed by the parties at the summit on Malastare, the peace faction continues to insist upon negotiation with the Vyhrragians.  The defense faction, on the other hand, asserts that more than ever Argis must be confronted definitively with the Republic's overwhelming military superiority.  Now almost evenly numbered, the two blocs of Senators are mired in a stalemate over the proper course of action.  Even the Jedi Council's presentation to the Senate of indisputable proof of Sith involvement in Argis' campaign of piracy and conquest has had little effect on the legislators.  Amid this bitter controversy Supreme Chancellor Trellem struggles to maintain decorum and civility in the divided chamber.  _

_In recent weeks the Republic's Vyhrragian enemies have become increasingly bold.  Several violent and destructive operations have been staged deep inside the Republic's territory – devastating strikes against military installations and civilian targets on Core worlds.  Additional sabotage attacks have crippled key infrastructure points in the Core and Expansion Regions, weakening the Republic's ability to defend the Mid and Outer Rims from Argis' depredations.  Fed by the sensationalist reporting of the Holonet and hyperbolic propaganda from both sides, fear and panic have begun to rise among the general populace.  The confrontation with the New Justice movement is no longer simply an economic dispute in the outskirts of the Republic, but rather a deadly and horrifying conflict with direct effects on civilians in areas long believed safe from hostilities.  _

_The principal architects of the defense faction's political strategy – Senator Bail Millius of Alderaan, Senator Leia Skywalker Organa of Naboo, and Senator-at-Large Padmé Naberrie Skywalker – believe a change in the Republic's leadership is necessary.  Yet they dreadfully have concluded that only further military victories or terrorist activities by Argis, at the needless cost of thousands of innocent lives, will be sufficient to shift the balance of power in the Senate in their favor.  _

_With each passing week Argis' expansion of his military arsenal continues unabated and his sphere of influence becomes greater.  And in secret the evil Sith Lords prepare to execute the next stage of their diabolical plot for Galactic domination: the annihilation of the entire Skywalker bloodline._  

---

The dark sky of night outside the broad windows of the Jedi Council chamber seemed to seep through the transparisteel and drain the round room of its illumination.  Against the horizon the towering skylines of Coruscant sparkled from the millions of individual lights on buildings and air traffic.  Inside the room deep shadows and somber sentiments filled the space with apprehension and dread.  Yet the twelve gathered Jedi Masters were determined and undaunted.  

"Something terrible is about to happen," Anakin Skywalker said in a composed voice earned by two decades of constant mindfulness to emotional tranquility.  He pulled his hands off the armrests of his chair, ran his fingers through his short gray hair, and then crossed his arms over the front of his tan Jedi robes.  "Each day the disturbance in the Force becomes stronger." 

"I sense it too," agreed Obi-Wan Kenobi.  The white-bearded chairman of the Council shared a solemn gaze with his former apprentice.  "I have little doubt that the Sith are once again on the move.  We must be prepared to meet them wherever they appear."  

"We all believe the Sith are in league with Argis," began Aayla Secura.  "And Argis seems intent on weakening the Republic.  All of his recent actions in the Core suggest a purpose no less significant than toppling the government."  The pair of lekku flowing down her back from the blue-skinned Twi'lek's head twitched as she spoke.  "If this is the case, then I believe the Order has an obligation to increase our presence at the Senate and other important facilities.  We must ensure the security of the civilian leadership." 

Obi-Wan looked slowly around the circle of seated Masters.  "Comments on the proposal?"  

After a moment Barriss Offee leaned forward in her chair, adjusted her deep blue robes, and propped her elbows on her thighs.  "I concur with Aayla.  While we cannot be certain where the Sith will strike, certain targets would be more plainly suited to their ends than others.  And where these targets are vulnerable, we should strengthen them."  The golden-skinned near-human Mirialan woman clasped her hands between her knees.  "To fail to do so would leave these institutions pointlessly undefended."  

"This seems to me a sound idea," Anakin agreed.  "I believe, however, that the Sith will not strike at the obvious targets such as the Senate building itself.  The Sith rely upon cunning and manipulation.  Seeking to destroy the Senate, for example, seems too… well… mundane.  I expect something far more devious from them – something all the more bold for its subtlety."  

"That is true," Master Secura conceded with a tilt of her head.  "Nevertheless we also have seen that Argis' regular soldiers have undertaken operations that are remarkable in their audacity.  So while the Sith may be unlikely to strike the Senate, a team of assassins or saboteurs very well might."  

"Excellent point, Aayla," Obi-Wan nodded.  "An increased Jedi presence will be important regardless of what form of attack may come."  

"I will arrange immediately for the most talented available Padawans to assume such assignments," Master Offee offered.  "We should be able to have apprentices in place within a day."  

When the other Council members acceded to the proposal and the plan for its implementation, Obi-Wan waved his hand in her direction.  "Very well.  Barriss will organize our security teams and deploy them as soon as possible.  I will inform the Supreme Chancellor of our decision.  I am confident he will have no objection to it."  

Anakin failed to suppress his scoffing chuckle.  "Trellem is a coward.  His only objection will be that we did not assign enough Jedi for his own protection." 

"Anakin…" said Obi-Wan pointedly.  

"My apologies," Anakin replied after a moment.  "This is not the place for my personal opinions about the Chancellor."  

"No need to apologize.  You may say whatever you wish here, Anakin, and it will not leave this chamber," Barriss laughed.  "But one day you will forget your location and make an ill-advised remark for all to hear." 

"You are very wise, Barriss, and absolutely correct," Anakin winked.  _If I ever do that, any embarrassment I might bring to myself or the Order would be the least of my problems compared to what Padmé would do…_

Obi-Wan managed to conceal his mischievous grin by running a few fingers through his neatly trimmed moustache and beard.  "Is there any other business?"  None was raised.  "The meeting of the Council is adjourned."  

As the dozen Jedi Masters rose from their chairs and filed toward the single door to the chamber, Obi-Wan waved over Aayla to where he and Anakin were standing at the window behind his chair.  "After dinner Anakin and I intend to meditate further on the disturbance in the Force," he explained quietly.  "We would like you to join us."  

The middle-aged Twi'lek woman smiled.  "It would be my pleasure."  

"Very good," Anakin said firmly.  "This situation is most troubling indeed." 

--- 

The holy man waited patiently on the terrace of a villa in the secluded Lake Country of Naboo.  Behind him the soft orange glow of the rising sun barely had begun to creep over the forested hills to illuminate the placid waters of the lake below.  The morning birds were singing and the pleasing scents of the red roses lining the balustrade wafted in the warm breeze.  It was the perfect setting for celebrating the eternal union of two young lovers.  

The kind, elderly man heard the taps of approaching shoes on the stones of the terrace.  Apparently the couple had not changed their minds from the previous day, when he had counseled them not to wed so impulsively.  As much as he disagreed with it, he nonetheless would honor their decision.  He would be the only witness to the ceremony. 

The tall man and short woman walked hand-in-hand until they stopped two paces in front of him.  The groom wore the dress-whites uniform of a military officer, the bride an elegant yet unadorned white dress.  She did not have a veil, and yesterday they had insisted they wished to proceed even without rings.  

"Are you ready?" asked the holy man politely.  

"We are," the woman replied calmly.  The young couple turned to face each other.  

The rites of matrimony were brief, simple, and profound.  

"Congratulations," the holy man said.  "I wish you nothing but happiness in your new life together."  

"Thank you," the man nodded humbly without releasing his wife's hands.  "May the Force be with you."  

For a split-second the holy man looked at the couple quizzically.  He was certain neither was a Jedi, so he found it somewhat odd for the young man to speak those parting words.  Quickly he regained his composure and smiled.  "And also with you, friends."  Then he turned and paced away slowly, leaving the newlyweds alone.  

After their gentle, loving kiss ended, husband and wife continued to stand unmoving for a few minutes, facing each other with their hands clasped tenderly between them.  Finally he released his hold and turned to the side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they turned to look out over the lake and trees and hills and the light of dawn that bathed everything.  

"Thank you," he said quietly.  

"For what?" she asked curiously, covering his hand with hers.  

"For this.  I have never been so happy in my life as I am in this moment."  

"Oh," she whispered.  "You're welcome."  She paused to catch her breath, which had hitched in her throat at his emotional declaration.  "I have never been this happy either."  

"I'm glad."

The warbles of birds and buzzing of insects filled their ears while she collected herself to say what needed to be said.  "What did we just do?" 

"We got married."  

"I know that, idiot," she laughed giddily as she elbowed him – not really very hard – in his ribs with her free arm.  "What was the rush?  We couldn't wait until we got back?  When we left we told everyone this was just a short vacation before your leave was up.  I didn't mean to I lie to them.  Did you?"

"No.  Of course not."

"You see my point?  So now…"  Her voice trailed off into the damp, rose-scented morning air.  

"Now we have to keep it a secret," he sighed.  He took a deep and solemn breath, then laughed heartily.  "You're right.  My mother is going to kill me."  

"Kill _us_, you mean."  At long last the smile returned to the young woman's face.  "And she's going to have to get through my mother to do it!  They'll have our heads for breaking our promise not to elope."  

"Yes.  Yes, they will."  He lovingly brushed a loose wisp of blonde hair away from her face before he leaned down and kissed her on the lips.  "We'll just have to make sure they don't find out, then, won't we?"  

She winked.  "I'm a politician.  I'm very good at evading difficult questions." 

"And I think with my training I can withstand any interrogation you can," he chuckled.  

Sarré Bellion Skywalker grinned and pulled her husband's hand off her hip to hold it affectionately in both hands.  "Time for breakfast."  

Bryon Skywalker smiled broadly too.  "Good.  Because I'm very hungry."  With a little skip in his step he let his wife drag him back toward the villa.  


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

Padmé Naberrie Skywalker paused in the small anteroom to the formally appointed refresher in her office suite.  She leaned in toward the full-wall mirror above the blue-marble counter and white porcelain washbasin with golden faucet fixtures.  Upon that closer inspection, she saw once again that the signs of her age on her face finally were beginning to reveal themselves with a vengeance.  The wrinkles on her forehead.  The lines around her eyes, to say nothing of the dark circles below them from countless late hours of toil.  And, after forty-eight years, hints of gray in her long brown hair.  

She was six months into her term as an appointed Senator-at-Large, her first foray into active Galactic politics since the twins were born almost twenty-three years ago.  Although she had spent those years as a university professor and a highly sought-after consultant to Supreme Chancellors, Senators, and Queens of Naboo, she never had been far from the always-frenetic epicenter of politics on Coruscant.  All the political contacts and connections she possibly could have wanted or needed she already possessed.  So in theory her transition to her new post should have been easy.  

In theory.  

Her loyal and devoted personal assistant, Jenny Antilles, was a highly effective Chief of Staff.  Hardly ever did Padmé have to deal personally with an administrative or scheduling matter.  As a Senator-at-Large without a star system to serve or constituents' troubles to address, they had thought that hiring only a half-dozen assistants would be sufficient.  The massive amount of business that flowed through the Senate was astounding, however, and the eight of them had been struggling mightily of late to keep up.  

With a deep sigh Padmé decided she probably needed to hire more staff for her office after all.  She supposed there probably was money available in her official budget to cover the greater expense.  It was simply a matter of admitting she needed the help – something she never had been good at doing.  

And even if Senate funds were inadequate, she certainly could afford to pay for additional aides from a personal account.  Aside from the income, consulting fees, and honoraria she had earned over her career, the Skywalker family had substantial wealth.  Shortly after Anakin had defeated Darth Tyranus at Geonosis, Artoo and Threepio had identified a secret Sith bank account containing millions and millions of Republic credits.  The vast majority of the funds had been donated to charitable trusts for various causes Anakin and Padmé had chosen, but even the very small percentage they had kept for themselves generated more than enough interest to sustain their elegant lifestyle on Naboo and Coruscant.  Considering the multitude of beneficial uses to which Sidious' erstwhile assets had been put and all the good that had come of them, no one begrudged them a comfortable and happy life on their insignificant share.  Even Obi-Wan, who initially had been skeptical of the idea, long since had discarded his doubts.  

Padmé took a deep breath and stepped back from the mirror.  She smoothed the creases from her formal blue gown and shook her head lightly to loosen the unbound tresses flowing over her shoulders and back.  To keep her wits about her she already had called upon three old friends as temporary informal advisors, and they were waiting in the office conference room.  

Padmé looked hard into her own brown eyes in the mirror.  "You're ready," she said.  "Go.  Quit hiding.  Get out of here."  

---

Danaé Skywalker waited patiently in Training Room 8 in the Jedi Temple for her daily lightsaber regimen.  The green walls and white tumbling matting on the floor were oddly disconcerting, so she closed her eyes and clasped her hands at the small of her back.  Master Windu had advised her to expect particularly rigorous exercises today; in place of her usual tan Jedi robes Danaé had worn a sleeveless top and matching knee-length britches made of gray form-fitting elastic fabric, and her long brown hair had been woven into a single tight braid down her back.  

Unconsciously Danaé reached up her hand and tucked her thin Padawan braid behind her right ear.  It had been three weeks since she formally had become Master Windu's apprentice.  Her former Master, Oga Trill, had been missing without a trace for over a year, and Danaé had abided by her pledge to the Jedi Council to accept his now-presumed death by becoming Padawan learner to a new Master.  It had been a difficult threshold to cross – but her resolve to keep her vow never had wavered.  

Meditating on the patterns and currents of the Force flowing within her own body, Danaé reacted in surprise when the door slid upward and she saw the tall Jedi Master dressed in a similar skin-tight gray training outfit striding inside.  It wasn't Master Windu.  

"Good morning to you too, Danaé," her father teased with a broad grin when she remained silent.  

"I'm sorry," she shook her head apologetically.  "Good morning, Daddy."  

"Mace said you weren't expecting me, but I didn't think you'd be _that_ surprised to see me."  

"I was meditating in the living Force," she smiled.  "I wasn't attuned to the hallway."  She barely was shorter than he, and her intense blue eyes were level when they locked firmly to his.  "And it _has_ been a while since you deigned to honor me with your presence for sparring."  

Anakin accepted the half-jest, half-truth with a wink.  "Well played."  He unclipped his lightsaber handle from his belt and held it in his right hand.  "So, shall we begin?" 

"With pleasure," Danaé laughed sneakily.  Her hand flashed out from behind her back and she surged forward with her emerald blade ignited, the shimmering weapon slicing through the air toward his chest.    

He spun away effortlessly and took several long strides backward, triggering his blade with his thumb.  The distinctive snap-hiss sounded in the room – but there was no laser sword to be seen.  

Danaé stopped in her tracks and lowered her lightsaber to her side.  "What is…  I mean…"  In the Force she could sense an energy blade extending from his apparently empty handle.  A lightsaber was there.  Her eyes just couldn't perceive it.  "Daddy?  What is that?" 

Anakin smiled mischievously.  "It's a new blade I completed recently.  Do you like it?"  

"I'd like it more if I could see it."

"But that's the point, my dear.  I discovered a way to harmonize the blade in the ultraviolet spectrum.  It's an ordinary lightsaber, except that it's invisible to the human eye."  

Sensing him waving the laser sword through a series of standard thrusts and parries, Danaé understood his intention.  "To compel your opponent to rely solely on the Force," she said quietly.  

"Exactly.  Your eyes may deceive you, Danaé.  Or your opponent may fool them.  But with the Force as your ally you do not need to see my blade to duel with me." 

"Very well," she laughed again.  "Let's see how I do."  

---

With her back to the broad window overlooking the Senate Building, Padmé took her seat at the head of the modest blue-marble conference table and began the meeting.  "Thank you for coming," she smiled, trying admirably to keep the sound of defeat from her voice.  "I am delighted to have your advice and counsel.  It means a great deal to me."  

"You're welcome, Padmé," nodded Bail Organa.  The retired Senator from Alderaan had been her close friend since their service together on the Loyalist Committee during the Separatist crisis a quarter century ago; from her post in academia Padmé had been one of his most trusted advisors during his nine years as Supreme Chancellor after Palpatine's death.  He calmly stroked his gray goatee and chuckled.  "You know, I really don't miss this place very much.  But I can't say no to you.  I never could."  

"You're just lucky I never made good on any of those threats to throw Leia out of the house when she was a teenager," Padmé laughed too.  "You were her only hope."  

Bail shook his head knowingly.  "No kidding.  You have no idea how thankful I am that I didn't have to raise that girl!"  

"Hey there, Bail, oldo pallo," interjected Jar Jar Binks.  "But mesa think yousa lucky Senator Leia is not here.  Shesa not being happy, hearing yousa saying that!"  After Padmé had resigned her Senate seat, the pure-hearted Gungan had returned to their homeworld, where he still served on the Council of Advisors to the jovial-as-ever Boss Nass and as a highly respected liaison between the Gungans and the Naboo.  While through the passage of time he had added considerable heft to his previously thin body and had developed a mature wisdom about politics and life, he certainly remained prone to clumsy accidents and wild gesticulations.  Most of all, though, Jar Jar's loyalty and love for Padmé and her family had not faded in the slightest.  

"Very true," Bail agreed.  

"You'd better watch yourself, then.  She's due here any minute," pointed out Sabé Bellion.  Since her days as Queen Amidala's decoy and principal handmaiden, she had been Padmé's closest friend and most trusted confidante.  When Padmé had resigned, it had been Sabé who had won election to Naboo's Senate seat, which she subsequently had held for fifteen years.  Even Jenny, who had been nanny to the Skywalker children and had seen Padmé nearly every day for two decades, did not share in Padmé's deepest and most intimate thoughts the way Sabé did.    

Padmé glanced around the small room and noticed the brown-haired girl in a simple blue dress sitting in a chair in a corner near the door, listening intently to the conversation.  Padmé smiled.  "You're more than welcome to join us at the table, Nalé," she said gently.  "We won't bite.  I promise."  

"Thanks," the girl smiled, rising from her chair and tentatively taking a seat next to her mother.  Sabé's younger daughter, who a few weeks earlier had celebrated her sixteenth birthday, long had insisted that she was not interested in politics the way her mother and her older sister Sarré were.  More recently, however, she had asked to accompany her mother to many political events and meetings.  Knowing better than to comment on the adolescent's change of heart, Sabé and Padmé happily accepted her newfound enthusiasm.  

Before the meeting could proceed any further, Jenny stuck her head through the open doorway to the office's receiving room.  "Leia and Sarré will be here momentarily," she announced.  

As predicted a minute later the two young women burst into the conference room.  Leia already had taken down her elaborate hairstyle and let her long brown hair hang loose over her formal royal purple gown.  Sarré wore an unadorned azure dress and matching handmaiden's cloak.  

"We're running badly late," Leia proclaimed dramatically.  "But we promised we'd come to say goodbye, so here we are.  Make it quick, okay?"  

Padmé shared a brief glance with Sabé.  Neither of their eldest daughters was very good at farewells, so for the well being of everyone involved the mothers knew better than to extend the process.  They and Nalé rose from the table; Bail and Jar Jar had spoken to Leia and Sarré earlier that morning and politely stayed where they were.  The five ladies exchanged warm hugs.  

As they separated Sabé put a hand on Leia's arm.  "I'll head to the Sergeant-at-Arms' office after this meeting," she said quietly.  "The arrangements already are made.  Don't trouble yourself about it."  

"Thank you," Leia smiled.  "I appreciate it."  

After quick kisses and final embraces for their respective mothers the two young women went on their way.  Padmé raised her eyebrows at Sabé.  Both of them had noticed that Sarré had seemed unusually taciturn with them since she had returned four weeks ago from her Naboo vacation alone with Bryon.  Something was troubling her, something seemingly more serious than simply the fact that he had been away on missions since then – but as yet they had no idea what it might be.  Even in bidding her mother and sister farewell she had displayed far less emotion than she typically did.  Sabé could only shrug and indicate with her eyes that they should discuss it further later.  

Once they were seated again Padmé laughed lightly.  "Well, now that we have that out of the way, let's get down to business."

---

After nearly an hour of vigorous sparring, Anakin called a halt.  As usual he felt virtually no effects from the exertion, except for a mild elevation in his heart rate and slightly quicker breathing.  Extending his awareness around Danaé, he was pleased to observe how much her talents had developed in such a short span of time working with his old friend.  Her breathing was a bit ragged and her heartbeat faster than his, and a modest amount of perspiration had soaked through her garb.  But there was no demonstrable evidence of the relentless and brutal physical feats she had been performing.  "You have improved dramatically, Danaé."

She raised her eyebrows.  "Surprised, Daddy?"  

"Yes, I'll admit it," he laughed, caught in a verbal trap of his own creation.  "I would not have expected you to make such great progress so quickly." 

"Well, I'm learning from the master," she baited him.  

Happy to use the gambit as a pretense for the day's final lesson, he went along with it.  "Danaé, Danaé, Danaé," he teased.  "Mace taught me everything he knows.  But not everything _I_ know."  Quickly he ignited his invisible blade again and held it above his head in both hands.  "And it is one of those techniques that I would like to teach you today.  In complete confidence, of course."  

"Yes, Master Skywalker," she winked, igniting her green lightsaber and holding it in front of her torso in a defensive position.  

"Defend!" he ordered with a sharp yell as he charged forward without warning.  The invisible laser sword rained down a series of impossibly fast blows.

After only a few seconds Danaé lunged abruptly to the floor and rolled away, calling out in panic.  "I yield!"  She sprang to her feet again, her mouth agape in shock.  "You almost killed me!  What _was_ that?"

"The Anakin Skywalker Special," he whispered secretively.  "You think I won the Lightsaber Competition that many times on sheer skill and determination?"  

"Actually, yes," she admitted.  "But why didn't the best fencers, like Master Windu or Master Kenobi, figure out how to defend it?"  

"Could you defend it now?"

Danaé thought about it for a moment.  "No.  Not having seen it only once."  __

Anakin grinned.  "There's your answer.  No one in the Temple has seen it enough times to recognize it as a technique, much less to develop a defense."  

"Not even Mara?"  

"Not even Mara," he winked.  He left unspoken the obvious fact that if no Jedi was familiar enough with his personally developed technique to be able to defend it, then no Sith would be able to defend it either.  

"But you're going to teach me?"  She stared fiercely into his eyes again.  "Why?"  

"As a reward for your diligence and dedication in your training with Master Windu.  And for your admirable progress in managing your grief for Master Trill," he added after a brief pause.  "You deserve it."  

"Thank you," she nodded humbly.  

He brought the ultraviolet blade over his head again.  "Do you want some water?  Or a break?"

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"If you say so.  Because this could take a while."  

---****

Obi-Wan Kenobi braced his elbows on the ledge of the small balcony high on the main spire of the Jedi Temple.  He inhaled a deep breath and blew it out very slowly.  He was not looking forward to the upcoming conversation.  When he sensed the two presences approaching, he turned around and leaned his lower back against the low wall.  Then the door to the balcony slid upward and a pair of Padawans stepped through to join him.  

Neither wore the standard-issue tan Jedi attire.  

The robes of his apprentice, Luke Skywalker, were of the regular style, but instead of tan they were a deep blue; in conditions less bright than this gleaming midday sun, the indigo hue often was indistinguishable from black.  Spurning the close cut favored by most Padawans, Luke had grown out his sandy-brown hair to hang down loosely to the base of his neck and over his ears and forehead, which often required him to brush it away from his eyes.  Tucked behind his right ear as it was now, his thin Padawan braid disappeared in the strands.  Obi-Wan knew Luke was cultivating a look of discontent and confrontation to announce his frustration that he had not been allowed to stand for the Trials and become a Jedi Knight.  Luke's intense blue eyes glared at his Master's as he approached.  

While he disapproved of Luke's choice of dress and message, Obi-Wan almost failed to suppress a flinch when he saw for the first time the new robes worn by Anakin's Padawan, Mara Jade.  The foundation garments were a grim crimson, the color of blood.  The outer layer, covering her shoulders and forming two broad bands down her chest, was pitch black.  Against these dark colors her red-gold hair and green eyes sparkled like stars in the nighttime sky, and like Luke's her Padawan braid was concealed among her tresses.  Mara also was irate that she had not yet been allowed to take the Trials – but even more than Luke's her appearance hit Obi-Wan with an emotional blow.  Given the dearth of relevant images in the Temple's Archives, he doubted she realized that she was dressed almost exactly the same way Anakin had done twenty-four years ago when he nearly had fallen to the dark side. 

"Thank you for coming," Obi-Wan greeted them calmly.  

"Yes, Master," Luke groaned, his tone expressing clearly his lack of a choice in the matter.  

"Yes, Master Kenobi," Mara frowned with equal annoyance.  

"You have been dissatisfied with your recent assignments," Obi-Wan stated flatly.  "I would like to know why."  

"We should be doing more," Luke said immediately.  "The defensive effort is stalled.  So many are suffering and dying while we stand by and do nothing.  We should be using our powers to end this destructive conflict and bring peace to the Galaxy."  

"Not to mention the Sith," Mara interjected.  "We know they are allied with Argis, and there is little doubt they are based somewhere within his territory.  We should be aggressively seeking them out and confronting them.  Waiting for them to strike only gives them the advantage."  

"I see," Obi-Wan sighed after a moment, stroking his short white beard with his left hand.  First he met Luke's eyes.  "The Jedi Order always has served the Republic by respecting the wishes of its elected representatives, the Senate.  The Supreme Chancellor, with the Senate's oversight, has responsibility for determining the course of the conflict and making peace."  His gaze turned to Mara.  "The Council shares your desire to take action against the Sith.  But until they reveal themselves it will be far too difficult for us to find them.  And we would be overstepping our authority to launch a massive offensive inside Vyhrragian territory without Senate approval."  

"And if the Senate sits by and lets death and devastation come to the Galaxy?  What then?"  Luke's eyes flickered with indignation.  "We sit on our hands and mourn their poor decisions?"  

"The Senate refuses to accept the evidence of Sith involvement you presented," Mara scoffed.  "They easily could make peace with Argis without addressing the Sith at all.  And we would be compelled to honor that?"  

"I appreciate your views," Obi-Wan persisted in a soothing tone.  "While I agree this war has not been waged as effectively as it might have been, nonetheless the situation is not nearly so dire that we even could consider disregarding the will of the Senate."  He looked closely into their eyes again.  "We must take care that we do not consider our own judgment to be superior to that of the Senate.  The Order always has guarded against such conceit and condescension, and the Council will continue to do so."  He paused to ensure their complete attention.  "You must trust our judgment on this matter."  

The two apprentices nodded silently in acceptance.  

"Very well," Obi-Wan said.  He was not at all convinced of their sincerity but decided that until he could speak further to Anakin it was best to end the discussion.  "May the Force be with you." 

Watching the pair stalk out through the doorway, Obi-Wan knew that he and Anakin would have to keep a close eye on their Padawans.  Arrogance was a constant struggle in the Order; these were not the first apprentices to confront that emotion, nor would they be the last.  Nonetheless, he could not shake the ominous feeling in his heart.  

---

On a broad landing platform connected by a narrow bridge to the side of the towering skyscraper that high above housed the Skywalker residence, two Navy officers waited at the base of the _Millennium Falcon_'s boarding ramp.  A chilly wind whipped at their blue flight suits.  From inside the ship a Wookiee's growling question came down to them.  

"No, they're not here yet, Chewie," Han Solo called back in a raised voice to ensure he would be heard over the quiet rumblings of noise that accompanied the drives of the heavily customized Corellian freighter warming up.  

His old friend Lando Calrissian flashed him a wicked grin.  "You're sweating.  Relax.  Take a deep breath."  

Han glared back at him while vigorously scratching his scalp beneath his short brown hair.  "I haven't seen her in three months, buddy."  

Lando laughed.  "I don't think you've been this nervous since you were almost kidnapped by those hired goons."  

Han was not amused.  "You were the one the Hutt's men trapped, and I rescued you, remember?"  

Lando thought about it for a moment.  "Oh, yeah.  Right."  

"I'm sure she's been really busy too, so she'll understand that I didn't have time to…"  

"You're rambling," Lando kidded as he slapped Han on the back.  "Is it possible this gal's actually having an effect on you?"  

"Shut up."  Then Han saw the door slide up at the far end of the platform's bridge and was pleased to be able to change the subject.  "Here they come," he hollered up the ramp again to Chewie.  

Approaching them were two short young women in red-and-white military jumpsuits, a taller male Jedi in dark robes, and a golden protocol droid hobbling frantically to keep pace with them.  Han thought the ladies seemed to be carrying an inordinate amount of luggage.  

Leia stopped in right in front of Han and dropped the two suitcases and two shoulder bags she was carrying to the ground.  "Hello, Han," she smiled.  "It's a pleasure to see you again."  

"Yeah, it's good to see you too," he said nonchalantly.  Although he suspected she had used her influence to arrange this, and didn't really care to know all the gory administrative details in any case, he was not about to admit to her how delighted he had been to receive this very unexpected – and most welcome – assignment.  

"Hi, Lando," Leia added.  She tipped her head to indicate those behind her.  "You remember my handmaiden Sarré?  And my brother Luke?"  

"Of course," Lando nodded; the three of them exchange pleasant smiles in greeting.  Quickly he reached down for Leia's luggage.  "Let me get that for you," he insisted, snapping them up and charging up the boarding ramp.  

With a wink to Leia, Sarré bounded up the ramp after him, hunching down under the weight of her own two suitcases and three shoulder bags.  

The protocol droid refused to be excluded from the conversation any longer.  "I do not believe we have been introduced," he said to Han.  "I am See Threepio, human-cyborg relations.  It will be my pleasure to…"

"Threepio," Leia cut him off brusquely.  "There will be time for this later.  Right now you should get on board and have Sarré introduce you to Commander Chewbacca and Lieutenant Commander Calrissian."  

"Of course, Mistress Leia," the droid conceded reluctantly.  "I only thought that perhaps I should…"

"Now."  

After Threepio ambled out of view, Han shook his head and chuckled.  "What a joy that you were able to bring your droid along."  

"Oh, he's not so bad, once you spend some time with him," Luke said with very credible but entirely feigned sincerity.  

Han raised his eyebrows.  "Really?"  

"Goodness no," Leia laughed.  Unconsciously she reached up her hands and checked on the five looping combat braids that were keeping her long brown hair out of the way.  "He only gets worse.  Much worse.  But we need a translator."  

"Wonderful."  

Leia smiled mischievously at Han and turned to give her brother a warm goodbye hug.  

---

The pair of colossal Special Forces officers in dress-whites uniforms strode confidently down the hallway of the Republic Army Central Command headquarters building on Coruscant.  While most soldiers in the Army and Navy who had served in the Vyhrragian crisis had been deployed only for brief tours of duty, they had been assigned to combat missions and covert operations at the front or behind enemy lines continuously for the last half-year.  Newly promoted Major Bryon Skywalker stood nearly half a foot taller than his father, and his broad frame rippled with bulging, finely toned muscles.  Walking at his side, his close friend and long-time principal aide, Captain Will Graff, was only a few inches shorter and boasted an equally imposing physique.  Several couriers and staff members scurried frantically from their path.  

The two men entered the briefing room and saluted the two superiors waiting for them.  With a gentle wave of his hand, Commander General Dodonna indicated that they should take their seats across the table.  "We have received the latest report from the Intelligence Service," the calm, gray-bearded man explained.  "They predict an imminent attack at Corellia."  

"While we do not known for certain the Vyhrragians' target, we believe we have identified the most likely possibility," General Madine continued.  "We anticipate a strike at an orbital shipyard and the accompanying manufacturing facility on the surface.  We intend to deploy the following forces in defense: one company of Special Forces soldiers, four companies of regulars, and a starfighter squadron from the Navy.  We also have requested a small number of Jedi be assigned to the operation, although we do not yet know how many."  

"You will be in command of the mission, Major," Dodonna said bluntly.  "The Navy wings will defer to your orders."

"Thank you, sir," Bryon smiled.  "We will begin the preparations immediately."  While his external composure remained fully intact, inside he cried out in frustration.  Now he and Sarré weren't going to be able to meet in person – he had arrived back on Coruscant only hours ago from the month-long deployment that had begun immediately after his return from Naboo, and by the time he would be able to leave the office tonight she already would have departed on her mission with Leia.  At least they had been able to speak briefly, and see each other's faces on the viewscreen, earlier in the day.  But that just wasn't the same.  

"Any necessary requests for requisitions may be forwarded directly to my office," Madine noted.  "We must act promptly."  

"Yes, sir," Bryon agreed.  At his shoulder, Will nodded firmly.

"The report will be available for you momentarily," Dodonna clarified.  The generals rose from their chairs, and the two inferiors officers followed suit.  "May the Force be with you."  

"Thank you, sir," the two young men saluted simultaneously as they exited the briefing room.  

---

As Leia wrapped her arms around her twin brother's neck she saw him preparing to say something to her.  She preemptively whispered sharply in his ear.  "You've already made your point.  Not another word." 

Luke squeezed her tighter and sighed.  "Be careful," he said anxiously, almost inaudibly.  

"I will.  I promise," she replied equally quietly. 

Luke strode three paces to Han and slapped an arm around his shoulders.  "Sorry I can't stay to chat, Captain Solo, but I have a mission that requires my immediate attention."  He paused and looked hard into Han's eyes.  "Take good care of my sister."  

"Sure thing, kid."  From the look on Han's face, it was obvious the message of the menacing admonition had come through loud and clear: _If you hurt her in any way, I'll kill you myself._  Han stood silently until Luke had walked all the way back across the bridge.  "So, your office at the Senate will make do without you around?"  

Leia crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the brisk gusts.  "For a couple of weeks, definitely.  The Senate won't be in session for most of it, and I trust completely the pair I've appointed to serve while I'm away."  As she had six months ago, Sabé unhesitatingly had agreed to serve as the Naboo delegate during Leia's absence.  Representative Tickis, the young Gungan, had insisted that he still was too inexperienced to hold the post alone and happily had welcomed Sabé to the office.  Really, though, it seemed quite unlikely that the Senate would have any substantial business to conduct before Leia returned.  

"And the Security Service was willing to let you travel this way?  There's only five of us.  And the _Falcon_ isn't exactly a typical senatorial travel arrangement."  

"They weren't happy about it," Leia chuckled.  "But I overruled them.  I make my own decisions."  

"Tell me about it," he muttered under his breath.  

"What's that?"  

"Nothing."  

"I thought so."  Leia's brown eyes were fiery when she looked up and gazed into his.  She had enjoyed working with him during the three months he had been assigned to the Navy Oversight subcommittee, and she had been trying for the three months after that to find a way to work with him again.  

Now the Senate Ad Hoc Committee on the Refugee Emergency, of which she also was a member, was investigating the burgeoning crisis on a number of Republic planets near to Vyhrragian territory in the Mid Rim.  Millions had fled the zone of hostilities before and after Vyhrragian conquests of new star systems, creating problems ranging from poverty and disease to economic collapse and unrest on the worlds that willingly – at least so far – had accepted the displaced victims of Argis' aggression.  If the Senate did not act quickly, however, the situation was threatening to explode into violence or mass expulsions on some of the host planets.  

In addition to formal Boards of Inquiry with public hearings and open testimony, the committee was dispatching six Senators to perform incognito reconnaissance of the actual conditions on a half dozen planets.  Seeing her chance, Leia had snatched up the assignment to evaluate the situation on the distressed world of Pharenniol, only a few parsecs from Gimna 3 and other systems close to the border of Vyhrragian territory.  She then had pulled the necessary strings and cut through the mountains of bureaucratic red tape to arrange for the _Falcon_ and its crew to serve as her transportation and security detail for the clandestine operation.  But she had no intention of divulging to him how much effort it had required.  

The freighter's drives revved at full capacity.  "Time to go, Princess," Han said.   

She waved him ahead.  "After you, Solo."  

---

The two men sat on opposite sides of the desk in Bryon's office, poring over the datapads and holographic schematics of the threatened factories at Corellia.  They already had concluded that Will would lead the two hundred Special Forces troops at the surface facility.  Given that the most likely attack on the orbital shipyard would be by starfighter, its defense primarily would be the Navy squadron; a single company of regulars would defend the interior.  Bryon would command the entire operation from the ground, where the remaining six hundred regulars would supplement the Special Forces.  

"This is a sound plan," Will declared.  "Certainly to build our strategy from until we have a chance to consult with Biggs about his squadron."  Captain Darklighter's leadership of Green Squadron at the Battle of the Trade Spine had impressed Bryon and Will immensely, and on several subsequent missions they had requested his wings to provide the naval support they had required.  They were very pleased he would be part of this mission too. 

"I agree," Bryon nodded.  "We also need to consider…"  A polite tapping on the open doorframe cut him off.  He looked up to see his staff secretary peeking her head around the corner.  "Yes, Kessa?"

Despite having been assigned to him for over three months, the shy, petite brunette corporal still seemed intimidated by her gigantic superior.  "A transmission from the Jedi Temple for you, sir."  

"Thank you, Kessa," Bryon smiled.  "I'll take it immediately."  

Without hesitation Will Graff rose from his chair and took a datapad with him.  "I'll run the initial plans by Krannar, Pryzill, and Allitisi."  

Bryon nodded his assent as Will left the room.  When he saw the familiar head and shoulders forming a blue holographic image over the transmitter, his face brightened into a broad grin.  "Master Kenobi, what a pleasant surprise."  

"Major Skywalker," Obi-Wan tipped his head politely.  "I have word regarding the assistance the Jedi Council is able to send to Corellia.  It is only three apprentices, I'm afraid." 

"Three is better than none," Bryon grinned, the same mischievous smirk Obi-Wan had seen so many times from Anakin.  

"Don't be so certain until you hear who they are," Obi-Wan winked.  

"Wait, wait," Bryon laughed.  "Let me guess."  He paused a moment for effect.  "Luke and Mara?"  

Obi-Wan chuckled appreciatively.  "I really am getting too predictable in my old age.  Yes, those two.  And your sister as well."  

Bryon smiled broadly again.  "Those three apprentices will be fine, Master Kenobi.  I'm confident I can work effectively with them."  


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

When he looked down at the two plates of steaming pasta, the two small bowls of fruit, and the two goblets of wine, Anakin crossed his arms over the front of his plain white shirt and shook his head.  "This is it, I guess."  

Padmé paced over to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.  "Yes.  It's only the two of us." 

He turned to the side to face her.  He chuckled at her attire; she wore a white apron over a simple pale blue dress.  Hardly ever did Padmé cultivate a domestic appearance, and when she did it was very noticeable indeed.  "You look beautiful tonight," he said sincerely. 

She blushed faintly, smiled shyly, and looked away.  "You don't have to say that."  

"But it's true," he insisted, a little hurt she didn't seem to believe him.    

"Stop it, Ani," she said, meeting his gaze again.  "I mean, look at me.  My hair is a mess," she sighed as she tried to run her fingers through her tangled locks.  "My eyes are atrocious right now.  And don't get me started on what these late hours are doing to my complexion."  Theatrically she motioned her hands up and down her sides.  "And in this I look like…  I don't even know…  Like…"

"Like your mother?" he supplied tenderly.  Regardless of anything else he might have said, he was certain she would take that as the high compliment it was.  

She did, and her face brightened again.  "Fine.  I should know by now that if you're going to say I'm beautiful when I don't feel beautiful, I should just accept it happily and quit questioning you."

"Yes, that's right.  You should." 

"Okay.  From now on I will."  She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.  "Until I forget next time."

"Well, yes.  There is that."  He picked up the two plates.  "Would you mind if we just ate in here, angel?" he asked quietly, indicating the small breakfast table with a wave of the dish in his right hand.  "The dining room seems so…  I don't know…  It lacks warmth when it's just two."

"Of course, Ani," she laughed lightly.  "That's fine with me."  She pulled the smock off over her head and folded it into a small pile on the counter, then picked up the two bowls and carried them to the table.  By the time she got there he had arrived with the two goblets.  

For a little while they ate in silence, until he couldn't stand the eerie quiet in the residence any more.  "It's so strange, not having any of them here, don't you think?"

"It is," she agreed with a nod.  "It will be very difficult to get used to."

"It certainly will."  He decided he needed to change the subject before he became too sentimental about his children.  "So, how have the debates been in the Senate this week?  I haven't even had time to read the Holonet reports."  

"Trellem's hold is weakening every day," she explained.  She set down her fork, leaned her elbows on the table, and let her face fall into her hands.  "But we haven't been able to transfer all of the discontent with him into votes in favor of the policies that need to be implemented."

"The policies.  Increased appropriations for a true war effort, directives to engage Argis on all fronts, increased use of Jedi Knights on troubled planets and in combat units.  The same ones you've been pushing for months, right?"

"Yes, those are the ones.  It seems like almost every day Mill gives another speech that pokes holes in every single policy or position that Trellem takes."  She sighed deeply.  "But we're trying very hard to prevent a vote of no confidence.  Trellem would lose it, there's no doubt about it.  The problem is that until we're sure our candidate will replace him, the current situation is better."

"Because another weak Supreme Chancellor wouldn't last long anyway.  And the additional instability would be bad for the Senate."

"Precisely."

Anakin raised his eyes and looked out the window behind her.  The zooming points of light of the airspeeder traffic were mesmerizing in their intricacy.  Absentmindedly he ran his fingers through his short gray hair.  "Millius will be a great Chancellor."  

"I think so too," Padmé nodded.  She let him continue to gaze distantly into the dark nighttime sky.  "He's young, I know.  But his leadership skills are superb and his judgment is unimpeachable.  I don't think I've seen him make a single poor decision since he came to the Senate."  She sighed sadly and tried to rub the exhaustion from her eyes.  "I only hope the Republic does not have to suffer too great a tragedy before that day comes." 

"You really think it will take a tragedy to shift enough votes?"

"Unfortunately, yes.  The two factions are so evenly divided at this point that individual members have begun to extort considerable concessions for their continued support.  It's disgusting, but we have no choice."

He chuckled.  "Makes you see the attraction in all the bribes Palpatine paid, doesn't it?"

She chuckled too.  "It sure does.  If only I didn't have all these pesky principles!" 

"Yes.  And that conscience of yours.  Think what you could have become if you hadn't insisted on being so moralistic all the time."  

"Who knows?  Probably Empress of the Known Galaxy."  

"Maybe," he laughed.  Then he became serious again.  "I hope you're wrong about the votes.  I hope they line up before something terrible occurs."  

"Me too," she sighed again.  

"When you see Millius tomorrow, give him my regards.  And tell him I will do whatever I can to assist.  Off the record, of course." 

"Of course." 

After a few more minutes they had eaten their dinners and emptied their goblets.  "More wine?" he asked.  

"Not tonight," she answered softly.  

"Sure."  He rose from his seat and cleared the table, leaving her to her thoughts.  When he finished he stood behind her and began to massage her tense shoulder muscles.  Small bursts of Force energy soothed the tight knots and eased her tired spirit.  

"Let's go up to the balcony," she proposed.  She tilted her head back until she was looking at him completely upside-down.  "I just need you to hold me for a while."  

"Okay, angel," he smiled.  He leaned straight down and gave her a kiss, which made them both laugh.  "Anything for you." 

---

Luke flew his X-Wing in broad ellipses around the orbital shipyard above Corellia, closely monitoring his instruments and paying careful attention to the eddies and ripples in the Force.  In preparation for the expected attack on the facility, the three Jedi apprentices had been deployed in their maroon-and-white starfighters to supplement the Green Squadron of Navy Y-Wings commanded by Captain Biggs Darklighter.  Neither the intelligence reports nor any of the recent Vyhrragian sabotage missions indicated that the Sith were likely to be participating.  The Jedi would be most effective as pilots, although the rapid-descent vectors were readied and they could be on the planet's surface within minutes if needed.  

So far, however, there had been no sign of any enemy vessels at either location. 

Looping around planetside again, Luke detected a slight tremor in the Force.  Immediately he surged his awareness toward the indistinct area of the disturbance.  After only a few seconds his attention focused on a cargo carrier of enormous proportions.  The lumbering super-freighter was descending slowly from orbit on a standard landing pattern.  

Luke sensed the magnitude of the disruption in the Force suddenly grow dramatically larger.  A second later one of the gigantic bay doors on the side of the ship began slowly to open.  

"Mark one-four-four," Luke declared confidently into the comlink microphone of his helmet.  "They've concealed their fighters inside that cargo carrier.  If we move quickly we can head them off."  

Biggs' voice answered right away.  "Roger, Skywalker One.  Wings, engage enemy fighters at will." 

"Do your sensor craft detect any other carriers in the vicinity, Green Leader?" asked Mara's voice quickly.  

"One second," Biggs replied.  "Negative.  There doesn't appear to be any possibility of a second source of enemy fighters."

"Very good, Captain," Mara answered.  "Just making sure."

"Understood, Jade.  May the Force be with you." 

Luke looked again at the cargo carrier.  Its door now was completely open, and several attack formations of TIE fighters already had emerged from the hold and were charging toward the shipyard.  With the Navy Y-Wings surging to attack them, Luke decided the best course of action would be for the Jedi to hang back and provide a last line of defense for the vulnerable orbiting space stations that comprised the facility.  

"Jade, Skywalker Two, let's stay together," he said calmly.  "Let the Greens handle the first waves and we'll clean up anything that makes it through."  

"Sounds good to me, Luke," Danaé's voice responded.  "I'll follow your lead." 

"Me too," Mara agreed.  Then she snapped a telepathic message to him through the Force.  _But only because we're flying, and you're better at that_, she griped with considerable false antipathy.  _On the ground, I lead._  

_Whatever you say_, he chuckled back.  For the last six months Luke and Mara had related in ways entirely different from all the prior years of their lives.  Previously they always had acted like bitter rivals, squabbling and bickering in the Temple over matters serious and trivial.  Even once their small nucleus of mutual friends had formed, their enmity had continued unabated.  Luke's string of short-lived romantic relationships – with women inside and outside their circle of friends – also hardly had endeared him to Mara.  Their friends called him Luke Heartbreaker; her nicknames for him were far less complimentary. 

Their cooperation in Leia's rescue from Vyhrragian custody at Xixus and in the terrible space combat that had been the Battle of the Trade Spine, however, had given them each a new perspective on the other.  They had come to see that they truly were far more than merely allies and fellow Jedi.  They were friends – and had been for some time, although they had been too blind to see it.  

He had to admit that when they fought together, combining their strength in the Force and letting it flow between them without barriers, their power was remarkable and their teamwork unparalleled.  Certainly the whole was far greater than the sum of its two parts.  

But his romantic possibilities had come crashing down around him at the same time.  He had realized that his feelings for their friend Ralli Gialla were nothing more than platonic affection, and he had ended their brief amorous affair.  During the crisis he had felt powerful feelings for Jenny Antilles, which she had returned – after all, she had been the one who kissed him – before telling him they could not be together.  And then he had sensed for the first time that Mara's feelings for him had begun to grow stronger than mere friendship.  It was a burden he simply could not bear. 

So for the last half year he had remained true to his pledge to himself not to let romantic attachments interfere with his training as a Jedi.  He wanted to take the Trials soon and worried that any such emotions might impede that effort indirectly by weakening his ambition or focus.  Mara had not pressed him on the issue, and he was fairly confident it was for the same reasons.  In that time they had performed a number of assignments together, although all had been mundane Jedi missions.  They also had spent increasing amounts of time on meditation to attain maximum preparedness for the Trials and had trained rigorously in the Temple – sometimes together, sometimes not.  

This was the first mission since the Battle of the Trade Spine in which they would see action in the Vyhrragian crisis and be able to fight side-by-side again.  Luke knew that Mara was pleased by the opportunity too, and not just because she had an adventurous streak and craved the danger and excitement as much as he did.  Also for the time it would give them together, away from the Temple and their friends and their routines and their Masters.  

He had no idea what to expect.  

"Three TIEs are through, mark oh-four-one," Danaé's voice announced in his ears.  

With that Luke's focus immediately returned to the battle at hand. 

---

The _Millennium Falcon_ dropped from hyperspace along the Corellian Trade Spine in the Expansion Regions and approached a small space station suspended in the depths of deep space between star systems.  At least another day's travel away from Pharenniol, the freighter would make a brief stop to replenish the fuel and food stores while top quality supplies remained plentiful.  From the large gray ball at the station's center, six long arms extended from the station at each axis point.  

After receiving a landing clearance confirmation for a docking bay on the upward-pointing arm, Han slowed the starship's speed even further and adjusted the flight path.  Chewie leaned to his right and adjusted several dials in preparation for landing.  

Suddenly a series of alarms began to beep and wail sharply.  Chewie wroofed angrily.  

"Yeah, I know," Han barked.  

In the cockpit chair behind Han, Lando spun to the side and checked the instruments on the console.  "Eight ships closing in," he said quickly.  "Four already have us on target-lock!" 

Chewie growled in frustration.  "Well, I guess this isn't our day for warm welcomes, then, is it?" Han laughed sarcastically.  He pushed down on the controls and took the _Falcon_ into a steep dive and roll, attempting to break the target-locks of their unknown opponents.  

A few laser bolts from a pursuing starfighter sailed by overhead outside the round viewport, having narrowly missed the hull.  "No messages on any of the universal hailing frequencies," Lando reported.  

"Send the Under Attack code to the station," Han ordered immediately.  He and Chewie flipped switches frantically and pulled on the controls firmly as they maneuvered the _Falcon_ in additional evasive maneuvers.  "Then get…"  

"On it," Lando interrupted him, already leaping from his seat and heading into the cabin hallway.  As he burst out, he hitched up the trousers of his blue Navy flight suit.  

The abrupt movements startled Threepio, who jolted in distress.  "Oh, the Maker!" he cried.  "What's happening?"  

"We're being attacked, genius," Han spat, reaching up to slide a single finger under the collar of his blue flight suit shirt and stretching out it out apprehensively.  

---

Lando charged at full speed down the hallway toward the pair of gunner pods.  Just before he reached them, the two petite young women dressed in matching azure flight suits ran to meet him from the opposite direction.  

"What's going on?" demanded Leia instantly.  

"We're under attack," Lando replied with a chagrined frown.  

"From whom?"  

"I didn't really have the time to ask them."  

"The Vyhrragians, you think?" asked Sarré before Leia could snipe her rejoinder.  

"Doesn't look like it, no," Lando answered.  "I'd love to chat, but I need to get in the pod," he pointed up toward the dorsal gun.  

"I've got it," Sarré said quickly to Leia, indicating the ventral pod.  When Leia seemed intent on participating in the fighting herself, Sarré pointed toward the cockpit.  "Go.  Leave this to me."  

Leia accepted her handmaiden's insistence with a nod and ran down the hallway.  

Lando looked curiously at the handmaiden; Leia's skill had impressed the men greatly in the Battle of the Trade Spine six months ago.  "Who's the better gunner, you or Leia?"  

Sarré smiled and reached up to adjust the four looping combat braids that held her blonde hair out of the way.  "I am.  No question."  

Lando grinned broadly.  "This I have to see!"  He quickly climbed toward his pod, and she scampered down to hers.  

---****

Leia nearly stumbled when the _Falcon_ swerved sharply as she arrived in the cockpit.  She grabbed the back of the empty chair behind Han, hauled herself into it, and strapped in tightly.  "What's happening, Captain?" 

"Eight ships are coming after us."  

"Eight?" exclaimed Threepio in dismay.  "Captain, the odds of a vessel like this single-handedly defeating eight opponents are three hundred twenty seven thousand to one."  

"Never tell me the odds!" snapped Han.  

"Perhaps we should capitulate," Threepio suggested excitedly.  "Surrender is a perfectly acceptable alternative in extreme circumstances."  

"Oh, for the love of…"  Before Han could finish, Leia had reached over and flicked the switch on the back of the droid's neck to shut him down.  Chewie wroofed approvingly, and Han looked quickly over his shoulder.  "Thanks."  

"My pleasure."  Leia glanced quickly at the side console.  "Are they Vyhrragian TIEs?"  

"No," he said between flipping switches on the console above his head.  "Eight different ships.  A strange bunch, that's for sure."  

"What does it mean?"

"Bounty hunters."  

Leia gasped.  "Why?  Who are they looking for?"  

"Don't worry, Princess," Han chuckled.  "It's not you."

"Who then?"

"Me and Chewie."

"You?" she said incredulously.  "Why?"  

"Let's just say we've made ourselves some enemies the last few months," he chuckled again.  

"How?"

"Well, our principal mission was cracking down on spice smuggling by the Hutt Criminal Syndicate.  We busted a lot of shipments and took quite a few of their agents into custody."  He paused a moment to bring the _Falcon_ through a steep loop.  "So the Hutts put a price on our heads.  And apparently someone's figured out that the _Falcon_ is our ship."  

"Were you planning to tell me about this?"

"Yeah, of course.  I just hadn't gotten around to it yet."

"I guess not!"  She pondered the news for a moment.  "The bounty.  Which is larger, dead or alive?" 

"Alive," he laughed.  

She shook her head.  "I guess that counts for something."  

"Yeah, I guess it does." 

Chewie wrawled an anxious warning.  "I see it!  I see it!" Han responded with alarm.  After another rolling dive failed to evade their pursuers, Han sighed in frustration.  "Where are the station's security forces?"  

Chewie growled again.  "I'm aware they're gaining on us.  What do you want me to do about it?"  Chewie shrugged and grumbled in resignation.  "Hey!  Of course!"  Han raised his voice and hollered back down the hallway.  "Lando, Sarré, get ready.  We're going to take this fight to them."  

Leia raised her eyebrows and leaned forward in her chair.  "You don't have to do this to impress me." 

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," he laughed.  "I'm doing it because I'd like to get out of this in one piece."  The _Falcon_ swooped around through a loop.  Out the front viewport appeared a rough attack formation comprised of obsolete fighters and other unimpressive-looking starships.  The motley group of eight charged toward the freighter with laser cannons blazing.  

Leia took a deep breath.  "I hope you know what you're doing."  

Han smirked.  "Yeah, me too."  

---

Major Bryon Skywalker had yet to give any orders to the eight hundred Republic Army soldiers deployed at various locations around the surface manufacturing facility on Corellia.  Although the Navy starfighters had been engaged for several minutes with Vyhrragian attackers, the enemy had not yet begun a ground offensive.  

If one even was coming.  

The fact that the space assault had occurred, however, actually made Bryon smile.  Ever since the nearly disastrous mission to destroy a Vyhrragian pirate's base, when Bryon's Special Forces platoon had been grossly outnumbered but had prevailed nonetheless, he had placed very little confidence in the information provided by the Intelligence Service or the Navy's Special Operations Division.  The fact that he had been compelled to lead his troops in the slaughter of a thousand enemy soldiers was something he would never forget.  

Suddenly the words he had expected broadcast over his comlink.  

"Thunder Command, this is Thunder Three.  Enemy units unloading from cargo carrier at our location.  Repeat, enemy units present," reported Lieutenant Allitisi's voice.  The Special Forces officer had served nearly a year with Bryon now and for this mission had been placed in charge of two platoons of regulars.  Their post was the facility's delivery docks.  

Bryon lifted his handheld microphone to his chin.  "Roger, Thunder Three.  Thunder Two, Thunder Four, deploy and reinforce."  Given this strategy by the Vyhrragians, it seemed unlikely that further attacks would come at the positions defended by the units commanded by First Sergeants Pryzill and Krannar.  "Thunder One," he directed Will Graff, "deploy two platoons to assist Three.  Others hold position and stay on guard."  

His three trusted subordinates confirmed the orders immediately.  

Bryon turned to the side and looked for his staff secretary.  After a moment he located the small young woman huddled with the lead communications officer.  "Kessa?"

She looked up instantly.  "Yes, sir?"  

"What have we determined about the plant's security cameras?"

She nodded to the communications officer and walked over to him.  "They are inadequate for our purposes, sir.  The resolution is too poor and the feed delay is intolerable."

"That is unfortunate," he said flatly.  

"Yes, sir," she replied meekly.  

Bryon looked down and smiled warmly at her.  He could not understand why she was afraid of him.  He even had stopped calling her Corporal Brittin after he had realized it only made her anxiety worse; apparently his use of her first name humanized him somehow to her.  Then again, in comparison to her standard-issue gray battle armor and fatigues the shining obsidian-black Special Forces battle armor he wore today probably didn't help matters any.  That and the fact he was well over a foot taller and nearly two hundred pounds heavier than she.  "Inform Thunder Three I am on my way.  And I want the all-sources feed in my helmet unless ordered otherwise."

"Yes, sir," she nodded, more confidently this time.  She liked orders she knew she could execute perfectly.  

"Excellent."  With that Bryon snatched his black helmet from the table and pulled it over his short brown hair.  He clipped the chinstrap under his jaw, then snapped down the smooth rounded black face shield.  Grabbing his heavy blaster rifle from where it leaned against the table, he waved his hand to the dozen Special Forces soldiers who formed his personal detail.  

In a brisk jog they moved out from the temporary command center toward the raging skirmish several buildings away.  

---

As the _Falcon_ surged toward its eight opponents Han finally was able to get a good look at the bounty hunters' vessels.  Two were old-model Y-Wings probably picked up from a Navy discarded-property sale.  Two more were even older that that; he thought they might be rebuilt and repainted Jedi starfighters from the era of the Separatist insurrection.  The fifth was a thin conical starship, the sixth a modified Kuati stunt-fighter, and the seventh a strange conglomeration of parts that seemed to be an X-Wing's body with wings from a Corellian racing fighter.  Only the eighth really looked dangerous: even though Han never had seen anything like the inverted-teardrop-shaped ship before, its sharp appearance and the pair of powerful laser cannons blazing from its sides seemed far more professional and impressive than the others.  

"Here we go," he yelled to the gunners.  "Open fire!"  

Using the _Falcon_'s front cannons Han aimed at one of the Y-Wings and squeeze the triggers.  It took only two blasts to penetrate the starfighter's outdated shields, and the vessel incinerated in a ball of flame.  

The trio in the cockpit watched out the viewport as the bolts from the dorsal quad cannon destroyed the conical starship and a solid stream of blasts from the ventral gun took out the mangled X-Wing.  Then, without any break in the stream, the ventral gun swung around and picked off both of the former Jedi craft.  

"Banthas fly and shaaks run!" exclaimed Han in disbelief.  "What in the name of Dooku's Ghost was that?"  

Leia leaned forward and put her small hand on his shoulder.  "I told you she was good."  

"Sure," he shook his head as he brought the _Falcon_ around for another pass, "but I didn't think you meant _that_ good!"  

Before Leia could respond, Chewie growled a fierce warning.  "What?  No!  Of all the unlucky…"  

"What is it?" asked Leia anxiously.  

"Torpedoes," Han explained brusquely.  "That upside-down-looking thing fired two of them at us!"  

"And how do we avoid…"  

"By not distracting the pilot!" he cut her off without turning around, raising his right hand and pointing his index finger over his shoulder in her general direction.   

Alarms sounded loudly in the cockpit as Han and Chewie worked together to steer the _Falcon_ through a series of very sharp evasive rolls and dives.  Even after their best efforts the alarms continued to wail.  

"Pull!  Pull!" screamed Han sharply.  Chewie growled indignantly and the freighter swerved into a severe climb.  In his deactivated state Threepio was unable to compensate for the change in the momentum, and he toppled precariously to the side, nearly smashing Leia's leg.  With a deep sigh of relief she leaned over from her seat and propped him upright again, tugging the straps around the dead-weight protocol droid as tightly as she could.  

At the top of the climb Han and Chewie yanked the _Falcon_ into a stomach-lurching turn.  With the torpedo-warning alarms blaring even more insistently they suddenly slammed the _Falcon_ into a fierce plunging dive.  

The field of stars outside the front viewport lit up as the two torpedoes detonated.  The _Falcon_ rocked and wobbled dangerously as the enemy stunt-fighter exploded just off the freighter's tail.  

Han hollered an incoherent string of curses as he and Chewie fought to control the shaking _Falcon_.  Moments later they managed to pull the freighter into relatively smooth flight again.  

Han gasped for air.  "Where are they?  Where are the last two?"  

"They're leaving," came Lando's voice over the intercom.  "They're heading away from the station.  Mark one-six-one."  

Leia leaned in to confirm it on the console at her left elbow.  "He's right.  They're breaking off."  

Han slumped in his chair in relief.  Chewie simply allowed his body to tip forward and let his forehead smack definitively into the console.  "Watch it, big buy," Han kidded.  "We'll be needing those brains of yours later."  Chewie raised his hands over his lowered head and shook them at the heavens, his rumbling moan indicating his complete exhaustion.  

---

In their relief at having escaped certain death, the _Falcon_'s crew did not notice what happened behind them.  As the remaining Y-Wing and the unique starship headed toward the hyperspace channels of the Corellian Trade Spine, the pilot of the latter suddenly swerved to port and opened fire on his companion.  

The Y-Wing exploded in a massive fireball.  

The helmeted man in Mandalorian armor nodded his head in the cockpit of _Slave I_.  "Too bad, my friend," he chuckled grimly.  "But I can't afford to have anyone running around knowing my strategy for capturing Captain Solo."  He chuckled again and shook his head.  "Perhaps this is why people are reluctant to work with me."  

Confident his sources would continue to provide accurate information, Boba Fett flipped a switch and made the jump to hyperspace.

---

Han sat up again and Chewie lifted his head when the communications frequency opened to the sound of a baritone male voice with a definite military inflection.  "_Millennium Falcon_, this is Station Security team Delta.  What is your emergency?" 

Han laughed in disbelief.  "Our emergency?  _Our emergency?_"  He slammed his palm on the console in frustration.  "We've handled it, no thanks to you."  

"My apologies, _Millennium Falcon_," said the voice sincerely.  "You still are cleared for landing in docking bay two-three-nine."  

"Thanks but no thanks," Han spat.  "We've had enough fun here at your station for one day." 

"Very well, _Millennium Falcon_," replied the voice calmly.  "We'll hold it open another two hours in case you change your mind."  

Han flicked off the feed.  "Two hours.  How wonderfully generous of them, considering their incompetence almost got us killed."  

"Are you sure we shouldn't land?" Leia asked with eyebrows raised.  "If the ship is damaged we could make repairs, and it might give us…" 

"Of course the ship is damaged, Princess," Han retorted angrily.  "We nearly got blown to bits.  But if there are bounty hunters up here, they probably are down there on that station too.  And really I'd rather not find out, if you don't mind."  He took a deep breath.  "We'll just fly the rest of the way to Pharreniol and deal with it all on the way.  Or when we get there.  Anywhere but here."  

"She's your ship, Captain," Leia sighed.  

"That's right," Han glared.  "And don't you ever forget it."  


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

The swarms of TIE fighters that had emerged from the gigantic cargo carrier outnumbered the Republic Y-Wings nearly two-to-one.  Nevertheless Green Squadron seemed to have the superior pilots and already had taken control of the flow of the battle, directing it away from the orbital shipyard the Vyhrragians sought to destroy.  

The TIEs' greater numbers, however, increasingly allowed small groups of starfighters to evade Green Squadron's formations and streak toward the facility.  Luke, Mara, and Danaé struggled to keep up the rearguard defense.  

"Three more, mark one-one-five," Mara said quickly.  She swerved her X-Wing into position and fired her laser cannons, destroying a TIE.  Moments later she took aim at the other two and annihilated them as well.  Outside her transparisteel cockpit canopy she saw a fierce dogfight raging between Luke's and Danaé's X-Wings and a quartet of TIE fighters.  She was about to move to assist when excellent shots by the pair incinerated all four.

"Great shooting!" Luke's voice cheered his sister over the comlink in Mara's helmet.  "You're really getting good at this."

"Thanks," Danaé chuckled.  "Artoo says that too." 

"He would know," Luke kidded.  "He's seen a lot of combat with Dad."  

Mara was about to add praise of her own when she saw in the distance another pair of TIEs charging toward the space station.  "Two bogies, mark three-one-two.  I'm on them."  She punched her drives to full speed and sailed toward the enemies with cannons blazing.  

Just after she blasted them, a horrible scream pierced her ears over the comlink.  She took a deep breath to shake the sinking feeling in her stomach.  

"Skywalker One, this is Green Two," said a Navy officer's voice.  "We've lost Green Leader."  

"Green Two, repeat," Luke said, his voice shaken.  

"Green Leader is gone," the voice replied solemnly.  "We've lost Captain Darklighter.  You're the next highest rank present, sir."

"Understood, Green Two," Luke responded, the authority restored in his voice.  

"Roger," said Green Two.  "Green Squadron, this is Green Two.  Skywalker One is now Green Leader.  Repeat, Skywalker One is now Green Leader."  

"Skywalker Two, Jade, hold position," Luke ordered firmly.  "Greens Twenty to Twenty-Six, fall back and assist with object defense.  Remaining Wings stay on target.  I'm on my way."  

Mara brought her X-Wing around on a lone TIE fighter surging toward the shipyard.  The pilot swooped to port, then dove to starboard, trying to shake her from his tail.  She was not one of the better pilots in the Jedi Order, and certainly was nowhere near to earning an Ace rating.  But against an ordinary opponent she had little difficulty at all.  When the TIE tried its third evasive maneuver, she never even lost targeting contact.  She squeezed her triggers and watched the starfighter explode in a massive fireball. 

Then she quickly sent a telepathic message to Luke.  _May the Force be with you, Green Leader._

---

Thunder Three's location was a broad ferrocrete plaza bounded on one edge by a series of cargo loading docks and on the others by the manufacturing plant's gargantuan warehouses.  Bryon arrived midway along the left side to find the expansive area overrun with Vyhrragian troopers in tan body armor over green fatigues.  The brownshirts had breached the first defensive perimeter the Republic regulars had established just outside the docks and were beginning to move toward the gaping maws of the open bays of the warehouses on the far side of the plaza; apparently his soldiers had managed to close in time the bays on the plaza's sides.  Many dozens of corpses attired in the Army's gray battle armor over gray fatigues lay scattered around the bloody battlefield along with a large number of slain brownshirts.  

Quickly Bryon raised his heavy blaster rifle to his shoulder and opened fire on the nearest squad of brownshirts.  The twelve Special Forces soldiers with him did the same.  Within a few moments they had cleared a path through the enemy to the center portion of the second perimeter and clambered over it to join the remaining regulars holding that position.  While his detail joined the others in firing over the makeshift barricades at the oncoming brownshirts, Bryon looked for the closest commanding officer.  

After a few seconds he found an Army sergeant he did not know.  "Where is Lieutenant Allitisi?" Bryon asked bluntly.  

The sergeant's face fell.  "He's dead, sir."

"What?"

"He's dead."  When his superior did not react, the sergeant continued.  "He was killed when the first wave of brownshirts breached our position, sir."

Bryon nearly screamed in rage but held his composure.  "Who is in command here now?" 

"First Sergeant Pryzill arrived soon after, sir.  His men are holding the right flank."  

"Thank you, Sergeant," Bryon nodded.  "You may return to your units."

"What's left of them, sir," the sergeant frowned grimly as he jogged away.  

Bryon adjusted his helmet and hunkered down behind the barricades.  "Thunder Two, status."

"The flanks are holding," Pryzill replied after a long pause.  "The center has nearly collapsed.  Even when the two platoons of Special Forces arrived we barely held against their charge."

"I can see that for myself."

"We need reinforcements badly or we're done for."  

"That's what I was afraid of," Bryon sighed.  He thought for a moment, then made his decision.  "Thunder Base, are there any signs of additional enemy units?"

"No, sir," the communications officer reported.  

"Very well.  Thunder One, bring your remaining platoons here immediately.  We have no alternative."  

"Acknowledged," Will Graff replied.  "But you'll have to hold for several more minutes."

"We can't do that.  The brownshirts are too much for the regulars." 

"I'm sorry, Major, but we can't get there any faster."

"Acknowledged."  Bryon slumped back against the barricades and crossed his arms over his chest.  His good friend Allitisi was dead.  Just like that.  No word.  No goodbyes.  And no one had even bothered to inform him over the comlink.  Bryon slammed his black-gloved right fist into the armor plating on his thigh.  Piercing stings of pain shot through his hand and up his arm.  A vicious scowl crossed his face and he rose to his feet.  

The brownshirts had killed his friend, and they were going to pay a heavy price.  

"Commanding officers at Thunder Three, status report."  Within seconds he learned that fewer than half of the two hundred regulars in the company, and only about thirty of the hundred Special Forces sent initially, were still alive.  That was not good.  Not good at all.  "Thunder Two, Thunder Four, status report."  The units on the flanks had fared much better, with over three hundred of their regulars remaining.  

Bryon and his detail fired at the closest brownshirts and bought a brief amount of time for the surviving regulars at his position to regroup and prepare for the next wave.  "Thunder Base, best estimate of remaining enemies."  

"About six hundred, sir," the communications officer answered.

Bryon shook his head in disbelief.  How the Vyhrragians had crammed so many soldiers into the single cargo carrier he had no idea.  But he knew he had only one option for holding his position.  "Thunder Two, Thunder Four, release the flanks and charge."

"Are you sure, Major?" asked Pryzill reluctantly.  

"It will work," Bryon replied firmly.  "They will surrender."

"Many regulars will be killed," Krannar pointed out.  "All the Special Forces we have for now are with you." 

"I'm aware of that," Bryon snapped, having paused only a split-second to shoot an onrushing brownshirt in the head.  "But we can't afford to wait for the others and I have no intention of letting the brownshirts enter the facility.  And they're out of position to defend this."  He didn't need to tell them why – the enemy simply hadn't anticipated a Republic officer being willing to send so many men to their deaths to ensure victory.  Over the course of the conflict Bryon's orders had led to the deaths of unknown thousands of enemies and many hundreds of Republic soldiers.  This immediate decision – right here, right now – did not faze him in the least.  Just as none of the others ever had at the time he had made it.  Not with what was a stake in each skirmish.  Not in the heat of battle.  But the Vyhrragians had no way of knowing that.  

"Order the charge," he barked when no responses came over the feed.  "_Now!_"   

"Yes, sir," the two first sergeants affirmed.  

Bryon focused again on firing his rifle and sent a constant stream of laser bolts into the nearby opposing troops.  The loss of life probably would be very high, especially among the regulars, so all he could do was hope it didn't take too long for the brownshirts to surrender.  Continuing to fire without interruption, he growled under his breath at the enemy.  

"You're going to regret you ever crossed me."  

---

The dogfights between the Y-Wings and TIEs continued to rage unabated, although the Republic's fighters now clearly were beginning to take the advantage.  With Luke's leadership the Navy pilots were continually striking weak points in the Vyhrragian formations.  Although additional Republic casualties were inevitable, within a few more minutes the enemy would have no choice but to surrender or be swiftly wiped out.  

Danaé swung her X-Wing around and blasted another TIE.  With time on the trip from Coruscant to Corellia to prepare her mind, she had reached a level of emotional harmony that enabled her to accept the sensations of the deaths in the Force without becoming distracted or suffering any noticeable effects.  It was a vast improvement from the terrible pain she had experienced at the Battle of the Trade Spine six months ago.  And while she continued to abhor the loss of life the battle was causing, she now was able to perform her duties with far less trauma.  

Another steep loop brought her into position to annihilate a TIE fighter.  Following in the Force the flow of the battle and the rapid movements of dozens of starfighters, she perceived a nearby vulnerability and steered toward it.  The Force surged around her and through her body, and brought her renewed energy even as the duration of the battle became progressively longer.  

Suddenly something pierced through the currents in the energy field and stabbed at her heart.  

_No._  

It couldn't be. 

_No._

Danaé's hands fell from the control stick and her torso slumped forward against the restraints.  

It was impossible.  

_No._

Yet she knew what she had sensed in the Force.  

_Oga__?__  Master Trill?  Where are you?_  Could he really still be alive?

He wasn't here at Corellia; she was certain of that.  And yet there was no question she had sensed his unique signature in the Force.  Maybe he wasn't dead after all.  Apparently he was alive.  

As suddenly as the perception had reached her in the Force, a voice screamed frantically over the comlink in her helmet.  

"Danaé!"

It was Luke.  

He had sensed her danger in the Force but was too far away to assist her himself.  Fortunately his desperate holler shocked her back to reality.  

"Danaé!  Pull up!  Pull up!  Pull up!"  Artoo squealed frantically too. 

Somehow, some remarkable combination of her conscious mind and the guidance of the Force, something enabled her to grab the control stick and slam it to her abdomen in time to avoid the barrage of laser blasts that two TIEs had fired at her uncontrolled, drifting X-Wing.  

An instant later Mara's X-Wing swooped in and destroyed the two threatening enemy starfighters.  

Luke's voice came over the comlink again.  "What happened, Danaé?"

"I…  I…  I'm not sure," she mumbled forlornly.  She couldn't tell them.  She just couldn't.  

"You were almost killed, Danaé," Luke said sternly.  "Go back to the hangar."

"No," she refused firmly.  "I'm fine now."  That was true to a point.  She had regained her attunement to the battle and was flying her X-Wing smoothly again.  "I just lost my focus for a second there."

"Why?" asked Mara with great concern in her voice.  

"I think the deaths in the battle just got to be too much for me," Danaé lied.  "I shook it off.  I can finish this.  I will do my duty."  She took a deep breath.  "I swear to you I'll be fine.  I promise."  Artoo blooped a reluctant agreement that she seemed to have regained her composure. 

"I don't like this at all," Luke declared.  "But there's no time to debate it."  His voice became incredibly serious, almost angrily stern.  "Be careful, Danaé."  

"I will, Luke," she insisted calmly.  She swung around and blasted a pair of TIEs to emphasize the point.  

A few minutes later the remaining Vyhrragian starfighter units capitulated, followed almost immediately by word from Bryon of the enemy's unconditional surrender on the ground.  

---****

Approaching the small room containing their bunks on the _Falcon_, Sarré knew she had to find a way – and soon – to keep herself distracted from how much she missed Bryon.  Not only had she been feeling terribly lonely the last few days, but it also was becoming increasingly painful to keep the marriage a secret from Leia.  She hadn't had to lie to Leia, at least not yet, but Leia was her closest friend in the galaxy and Sarré desperately wanted to tell her.  She needed to share her joy with her best friend, even if Leia would be temporarily angry about having missing the ceremony.  

When she heard Leia speaking inside the cramped bedchamber, Sarré paused in the narrow passageway of the freighter.  It took only a moment, however, for her to realize what was going on.  In the last two months or so Leia had started "talking" to her late husband Jarren Organa, sometimes only in her head, sometimes out loud – imaginary conversations in which she discussed with him what was on her mind.  

Lately those conversations seemed to involve only two topics: either the Vyhrragian crisis or Han Solo.

After a deep breath Sarré rapped her knuckles on the open doorframe and walked inside.  

---

Han kept his eyes focused on the stars outside the round viewport of the _Falcon_'s cockpit.  "I'm not discussing this with you."

Chewie growled in mock fury.  

"No.  Under no circumstances."  

This time Chewie grumbled in annoyance.  

"I don't care.  No."

The Wookiee crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed indignantly.  

"Go ahead.  Be angry.  I'm still not talking about this."  

Chewie heard footsteps approaching and roared a soaring complaint down the hallway.  

"Really?" asked Lando as he emerged through the open doorway and strapped into his seat behind Han.  "After all that we've done for him?"  

Han didn't say a word.  He continued to look out the viewport.  

Chewie wroofed another derisive remark.  "I couldn't agree more," Lando concurred with highly exaggerated affectations of hurt feelings.  

Still Han did not turn to face them.  "Is the next hyperspace jump calculated or not?" 

Chewie winked at Lando, then nodded his head.  

Han, of course, could not see it.  "Well?"

Chewie nodded again.  

"Chewie?" 

This time Chewie could not suppress his chuckle as he nodded for a third time.  

"Laugh it up, fuzzball."  Han had glanced over just enough to see the motion from the corner of his eye.  He reached down and pulled the lever, causing the stars to elongate into streaks of light.  Then he finally turned to face his friends.  He was trying to glare at them angrily, but really he looked ridiculous.  

Chewie burst out into a very pleased belly laugh, which Lando joined.  "Seriously, Han," his friend said after he controlled his breathing again, "it's not like we can't tell a difference now that you're with her again.  You're not making it very difficult for us to see that you have feelings for her."

"If it's obvious even to you two nimrods, then I guess I don't have to say anything, do I?"  

---

Sitting cross-legged on one of the lower beds, her hands in her lap, Leia was startled from her invented deliberations by the quiet tapping.  She looked up to see her handmaiden pace over and sit down on the bed opposite her, letting her feet dangle over the edge.  

Sarré smiled warmly.  "You were talking to Jarren again, weren't you?"  

Leia nodded.  "Yes, I was."  She uncrossed her legs and dangled them over her bed, matching her handmaiden's reclined pose.  "Six days ago was one year since he was murdered."  

"I remember," Sarré said gently.  She reached up and began to untie the looping combat braids in her blonde hair.  "I figured you didn't want to talk about it, since you didn't say anything."  

Leia smiled back and started untying her braids too.  "It means he's been gone as long as we were married."  Her hands stopped moving for a moment.  "And I've realized I'm finding as the days go by that I don't miss him as much."  

"And that's bothering you," Sarré finished the thought.  "You feel as though you're somehow dishonoring his memory with these feelings."  After Leia nodded sadly and went back to unbraiding her hair, her friend continued.  "I'm going to say something to you that you need to hear," she said calmly.  "I want you to understand that I don't mean it as an insult to you, and certainly not to Jarren or his memory.  Okay?" 

"Okay," Leia whispered, a little reluctantly.  

"I know how much you loved Jarren," Sarré began softly.  "And that he made you very happy.  But I want you to ask yourself, deep down inside, whether you ever could love anyone else as much as you loved him."  

Leia paused for a long time.  "I don't know," she finally said truthfully.  "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Let me try to explain it this way," Sarré started again after a moment's thought.  "Bryon is my destiny.  I've felt it since I was a little girl.  Even before I knew what being in love meant, or what adults who are in love with each other do, I knew I was going to marry him and bear his children and be with him forever.  He was my first love, my first kiss, my first…  well, my first everything.  And my only one too."  Her eyes had welled up, and she reached up a hand to wipe them.  "If he ever died, I suppose I might marry again someday.  I'm young.  I'd have to move on somehow.  But I would never, ever – _ever_ – be able to love another man the way I love him.  I know this.  It is a fact.  It's the truth.  I know it with more certainty than I know anything else in the universe." 

Leia sat in stunned silence.  In all the years she had known Sarré, as childhood pals and teenaged troublemakers and young politicians, never had she heard her speak with such emotion and intensity.  Leia found her own eyes tearing up as well.  After a profoundly silent moment Leia found her voice again.  "And you're asking whether I feel that way about Jarren."  She paused.  "Or if I ever did."  

Tears were running down Sarré's face now.  To try to keep her composure she reached under the bed for one of her shoulder bags and withdrew a hairbrush.  "You see why I warned you."  

"I'm not offended.  Not at all," Leia insisted very tenderly.  She reached beneath her bed and retrieved a brush from her bags; she found comfort in this simple act of friendship.  "I suppose it is a fair question to ask," she sighed.  "I loved Jarren very much.  But you're right.  He wasn't my first love.  Or my first kiss.  Or the first boy I snuck in while my parents were away."  She laughed happily.  "Or while they were home, for that matter!  He made me very happy and I could have spent my life with him without regrets.  But he's gone."  She sighed sadly again and wiped her eyes.  "And you're right.  Deep down inside, in my soul, I know I could love someone else as much as I loved him.  I could.  If it was the right man I could."

Sarré kept brushing her hair, her tears having stopped temporarily.  "Maybe even more?" she asked gently.

Leia stopped brushing to think.  "I don't know.  Maybe."  She sat unmoving.  "Maybe."  

Sarré pressed ahead with the point she was trying to make.  "And what do you feel for Han?"

Leia raised her eyebrows.  "What?"

"How do you feel about Han?" her handmaiden persisted.  For the last few years she had kept her blonde hair at shoulder length, but recently she had grown it out more; flowing down it now reached to the middle of her back.  Even though the task was thoroughly completed already, she continued brushing anyway.

"I'm not really sure," the Senator from Naboo said in genuine consternation.  She had reached the same point with her own hair.  The long brown tresses that hung to the small of her back did not need any more brushing.  She continued too.  

"Oh, come on, Leia," laughed Sarré in ridicule.  "How many hours did you spend, just so you could get to take this mission with him?"  When Leia scrunched her forehead to think about it, she chuckled again.  "It was a rhetorical question."  

"Sorry," Leia giggled.  "I guess I am… intrigued… by him."  

"Then why have you been so…  well…  reluctant since we've been onboard with him?  It's like you're holding back, or doubting yourself."  Sarré held Leia's gaze firmly.  "It's not typical for you, is all."  

"I don't know," Leia sighed.  "I guess it's because before I left, everyone told me to be careful, to watch out for myself, to be safe.  It's like they don't trust him.  Or me with him.  Or something."

"Everyone who?"

"Mom.  Daddy.  Even Danaé.  And Luke.  He disapproves of this whole idea."

"I thought he liked Han," Sarré said with raised eyebrows.  

"I thought so too," Leia smiled weakly.  "I guess his opinion changed when he realized it might be something more serious than he thought."

"Don't listen to what they say.  You can't live your life for them.  Only for yourself.  You have to follow your heart, regardless of what anyone else says.  Even Luke or your parents."

"Even you?"

"Yes," Sarré chuckled.  "Even me."  She paused for a moment, pondering her friend's admissions.  "You like him because he's a scoundrel," Sarré teased.  "There aren't enough scoundrels in your life."

"I happen to like nice men," Leia insisted rather unconvincingly.

"Maybe, maybe not," Sarré grinned devilishly.  "But I've watched the two of you, the way you worked together for the subcommittee.  You've met your match, Leia.  I've known you my whole life, and I've never seen you like this with anyone."  Her eyes welled up again. 

"He drives me mad.  He's unbelievably frustrating.  He makes me want to scream sometimes." 

"And yet here you are…"  

For a brief moment Leia met Sarré's eyes in an intense glare.  Then she subsided with a deep sigh.  "I suppose you have a point, Sarré."  

"Yes, I think I do."  For no apparent reason Sarré began to cry again.  Her strategy a failure, she put the brush away.  Then she leaned against the wall and hugged her knees to her chest while she sobbed.  

"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself," Leia groaned, defeated.  She looked carefully at her handmaiden.  Padmé and Sabé both had commented on Sarré's uncharacteristic reticence since her return from Naboo.  The only thing Leia had noticed was Sarré's increasingly volatile moodiness, especially the last week or so.  It struck her as curious, and she resolved to keep a closer eye on her friend.  Really, though, she assumed it probably was nothing more than simple lovesickness for Bryon.  Without a doubt that was an emotion Leia had experienced herself in tremendous quantities for the last year, and for most of that time it had taken considerable effort not to feel jealous of Sarré's blossoming relationship with Bryon.  Now, she realized, she might not have to suffer from those feelings anymore.  

Through her tears Sarré laughed.  "Oh, I am, Leia.  I definitely am."  

---

In a small docking bay of the orbital shipyard they had helped to save from destruction, the three young Jedi paced anxiously in the narrow area between Luke's X-Wing and Mara's next to it.  Immediately after the battle Danaé had recorded a message to Master Windu in which she had reported her nearly fatal loss of focus and had asked for guidance.  Although the report had seemed thorough to Luke and Mara, what they did not know was that Danaé had omitted the true reason for her emotional turmoil.  

"I wonder what's taking so long?" muttered Mara under her breath.  Their urgent transmission to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant should have been answered by now.  

Luke raised his palms upward and shrugged; Danaé only smiled regretfully.  Fortunately, at just that moment the portable holographic projector they had set up on the floor buzzed and began to form a static-laden blue image.  The three of them rushed over and sat cross-legged in front of it.  

When the image finally gained clarity, they understood the reason for the delay.  Danaé had contacted only Master Windu with her grave concerns, but Master Kenobi and Master Skywalker were present as well.  

"We have discussed your message," Obi-Wan began calmly, running his fingers through his short white beard.  "We believe it is imperative that immediate action be taken to ensure your well-being, Danaé." 

Danaé's eyes met her Master's over the transmission.  "I am truly sorry for what happened, Master Windu.  I hope it does not make you regret accepting me as your apprentice."  

Mace shook his head kindly.  "Of course it does not, Danaé.  Nothing could have that effect.  Nothing."  He looked closely into her eyes.  "The three of us agree, however, that simply having you return to the Temple for further meditation with me will not be fruitful.  Were that adequate, it would already have worked.  I want you to understand," he insisted firmly after a pause, "that we are not calling into question your fitness as a Jedi.  Each of us must overcome obstacles on our path to Knighthood."  He very purposefully turned to the side and looked at Anakin.  "Some more difficult than others."  

Danaé's firm nod demonstrated that his message had reached her loud and clear.  "I understand, Master."  

"Instead of returning to Coruscant, travel to the Dagobah system."

"I'm sorry, Master?  The Dagobah system?  Why?"  

Mace smiled knowingly.  "That is where Master Yoda lives now.  We have contacted him, and he has agreed to work with you until your troubled feelings are resolved.  He is the greatest instructor the Order has ever had.  Far better than any of us," Mace chuckled; the other two Jedi Masters agreed with bemused nods.  "He will help you attain the peace you need.  I am certain of it."  

"Thank you, Master," she nodded humbly.  "I will depart right away."  

It was Anakin's turn to speak.  "Mara, Luke," he said strongly.  "We have a mission for you that requires immediate action."  As he had expected, the two instantly snapped their eyes to him and waited expectantly.  "The Order has secretly been investigating possible connections between the Vyhrragians and the Hutt Criminal Syndicate." 

Luke raised his eyebrows and Mara inadvertently emitted a quiet gasp.  

"The two Padawans assigned to Tatooine have gone missing," he sighed.  "They did not make their last three scheduled reports to the Temple.  We believe they may be in imminent danger."  He did not need to tell them that the Council's probing in the Force would have determined that fact.  "When we are finished the Operations Office will transmit to you the information we possess about the course of the Padawans' investigation on Tatooine and their last known whereabouts, as well as the mission parameters and rules of engagement."  

"Yes, Master, of course," Mara said quietly.  

"The Order's presence on Tatooine is covert," Obi-Wan explained pointedly.  "You cannot fly your X-Wings there; it would be too obvious.  Along with the report Operations also will send an itinerary that uses commercial transportation to bring to you Tatooine in just over a standard day.  The Navy will convey your fighters back to the Temple."

"Understood, Master," Luke nodded.  

"Master?" asked Mara softly.  "Why haven't you told us who it is?"  

Anakin looked to Obi-Wan.  "Operations will tell you what you need to know.  Anything else could be a distraction," Obi-Wan said evasively.  Mara and Luke nodded apprehensively.  

"Very well," Anakin said.  "May the Force be with you."  With that, the image of the three Jedi Masters flickered and disappeared.  The projector beeped, informing them it was holding the feed open for the expected information from the Temple.  

Danaé glanced over with a sorrowful look in her eyes, and Mara and Luke met her gaze with great concern in theirs.  Although all three of them knew this active, dangerous mission was the kind the pair usually preferred, this one was different.  It was not good.  There was only one reason they would not have been told the identity of either of the missing Padawans.  

It must be someone close to them. 

---

When the wavering blue holographic image of the three Padawans vanished from the middle of the triangle formed by their round cushioned stools, the three Jedi Masters in tan robes settled back into more relaxed postures and took deep breaths to clear their thoughts.  

Mace spoke first.  "I am concerned for Danaé," he said calmly.  "She had made such admirable progress in controlling her feelings.  A relapse now and then is understandable, of course.  I only hope she is not too disappointed in herself."  

"Even if she is, Yoda will help her understand," Obi-Wan noted.  "Although I had the distinct impression she did not tell us everything that happened."  

"She didn't," Anakin shook his head.  It was not an interpretation or supposition.  It was a conclusion.  

Mace tilted his head thoughtfully.  Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows.  Neither said anything, knowing Anakin would explain himself as soon as he found the right words.  

"I know my daughter," he began quietly.  "She was concealing something.  And I think I know what it is."  He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.  "Several times recently, when I have been probing for signs of the Sith in my meditations, I have detected a faint whisper of Oga Trill's signature in the Force."  

Mace understood immediately.  "And you believe she somehow may have sensed the same thing during the battle." 

Anakin nodded solemnly.  

"I have not sensed his presence," Obi-Wan said contemplatively.  "Although none of us ever sensed his death either.  If he is alive, and Danaé felt his presence, it certainly would explain her reaction."  Obi-Wan looked closely into Anakin's eyes.  "I will meditate on this tonight."  

"As will I," Mace added.  "This is a most unusual situation.  Many times Jedi have disappeared, but we always have been able to perceive either when they died, or that they still lived.  Something is not right here."  

"I agree," Anakin frowned.  Then he chuckled and dropped his face into his hands.  "I hope our decision to send Luke and Mara to Tatooine was not unwise," said his muffled voice.  

Obi-Wan shook his head and laughed too.  "Are you reading my mind again, my old Padawan?"  

"Your apprentices have exceptional skills," Mace reminded his old friends gently.  "I am confident they will perform the mission efficiently and with discipline."  

"You're probably right," Obi-Wan smiled.  "I just hope he doesn't try anything foolish."  

Anakin lifted his face up again and flashed a resigned – but nonetheless impish – smile.  "I'd be more worried about her doing something, than him."  

---

When Padmé slept alone she often had dreams: some good, some bad, some indistinct or simply mundane.  When Anakin was present, on the other hand, she never dreamt at all.  While they slumbered their bodies flowed in the Force as one, which meant that Anakin's supremely trained Jedi mind held its mental steadfastness and neither of them experienced dreams of any kind.  After so many years this way Padmé hardly noticed anymore.  And it did have one notable advantage.  

Jedi don't have nightmares.  

And yet tonight…

_They stood in the __Theed__Palace__ main hangar, having infiltrated the building to initiate their strategy for retaking the capital from the invading Trade Federation.  Leading the way was Qui-Gon Jinn.  One pace off his shoulder strode a young Obi-Wan Kenobi, the age he was all those years ago.  Anakin and Padmé followed right behind: she seemed to be fourteen again, the way she looked in her first year as Queen; he seemed older, perhaps from around the time when they were reunited on Coruscant a decade later.  _

_The wide doors to the hallway opened, revealing a black-robed figure.  When he tossed off his cloak, however, it wasn't the red-and-black tattooed Zabrak.  It was Palpatine, dressed in black robes and holding a red lightsaber in a defensive position in front of his body.  _

_Qui-Gon drew his green blade and rushed forward, only to be struck down with a single blow.  _

_Obi-Wan charged ahead with his blue blade held high over his head and swung a powerful strike sure to slice the Sith Lord in two.  An instant before the blow could land everything stopped – and their location abruptly shifted to an isolated landing platform high in the skies of Coruscant.  Anakin, Padmé, and Obi-Wan stood together with Palpatine opposite them a few yards away.  None of their appearances had changed.    _

_Anakin thumbed on his blue laser sword and extended his arm with the blade parallel to the ground, pointing it directly at Palpatine's chest.  The lightsaber launched in a straight line from his hand, sailed right past the red weapon, and impaled Sidious through the heart.  _

_Again their location changed without warning and again the trio's appearances stayed the same.  They stood in a high-ceilinged room with ornate marble floors, soaring granite columns, and intricate stained-glass windows for all four walls.  A few paces in front of them was a black-cloaked figure.  When the cloak billowed away, they saw a black-haired woman dressed in black robes who instantly drew and ignited her red lightsaber.  Her face was blurred, clouded, and unrecognizable.  _

_Obi-Wan attacked first.  He was struck down with a single blow.  _

_Then their surroundings vanished and they seemed shrouded only by a dull gray mist.  The female Sith took the offensive, surging toward them aggressively._

_Padmé's__ heart shattered into a thousand shards when the Sith stabbed Anakin cleanly through his abdomen.  As his body slumped to the ground, she realized she had a blue lightsaber in her hands.  She swung it hard, striking home to decapitate the Sith._

_Anakin watched in horror as the Sith impaled Padmé through the heart before he could defend the blow.  After her body collapsed in a heap, he decapitated the enemy with a single violent blow the likes of which he had not made in many, many years._

Simultaneously Anakin and Padmé jolted upright in bed, screaming in pure, unmitigated terror.  

It took a moment for them to get their bearings.  Then they fell into each other's arms and sobbed.  Even though neither had seen the haunting final images of the other's vision, their hearts told them what they had been.  After what seemed like an eternity, Anakin finally spoke.  

"Do you know where that was?  The last place?" he asked in a shaking whisper.  

"Yes, actually," Padmé said, forcing the words from her quivering body.  "It's the Cathedral of the Liberation in Theed.  It was built in my second term as Queen to commemorate all who gave their lives in the blockade crisis."  

"Oh, right.  Yes, of course."  It was the only reply Anakin could manage.  They held each other for a long time, trying in vain to fight back their tears and control the pain that tore at their hearts.  Finally he took a deep breath again and looked closely into her eyes.  "I need to contact Obi-Wan," he said gently.  "I need to figure out what this means."  

"Of course, Ani," she agreed with a sad nod.  "I'll wait here for you."  

"Thank you, angel," he smiled.  He leaned over and kissed her forehead.  "I won't be long."  

A few minutes later Anakin returned to the bedroom and climbed back into the bed with Padmé.  He scooted across the sheets and wrapped her tightly in his arms.  

She buried her face in his chest.  "So?"  

"Obi-Wan and I leave in the morning for Naboo."  His voice barely was audible, but it was thick with pain.  

"And I am to stay behind."  She knew it was not debatable.  Not this time.  On a handful of occasions during the last two decades, when their minds had been unified in the Force in placid sleep or blissful ardor, she had experienced Force visions when he had received them – visions she always had felt she was not meant to see.  And tonight was no exception: the Force had spoken to the Chosen One, not to her.  

"Yes," he whispered tenderly.  "We are not certain what we will find.  But perhaps the new Sith Master.  We may finally have been given a sign about how to proceed."

"I hope so," Padmé sighed.  Then she smiled and kissed him on the lips.  

"What?" he asked, curious how she could be pleased at a time like this.  

"It's where it all started, Ani," she explained softly.  "The circle is now complete."  

"Possibly," he nodded.  "But this time I am a Master." 


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Danaé gripped the control stick of her X-Wing tightly and struggled to maintain a smooth descent through the heavy clouds of Dagobah's atmosphere.  Artoo toodled a series of worried queries and remarks.  

"That's right, we have coordinates for where to set down."  

"No," she laughed.  "I don't expect Master Yoda has a landing platform in the swamps."

"We're still right on course, Artoo, don't worry."

"Okay.  If it will make you feel better I'll lower the landing gear now."

"I guess you're right.  The clouds do seem to be getting thicker."  

Artoo squawked frantically.  "I know!  I know!  The sensors are out."

Another anxious blooping warble.  "I can hold this pattern."

"Yes, I'm sure I can hold it."  

Artoo beeped sharply.  "Oh, yeah.  I guess we don't know our altitude anymore, do we?"

After only a moment she learned her answer.  The closed S-foils of the starfighter crashed loudly into tree branches, snapping the wood violently as the ship plummeted toward the rapidly approaching ground.  A few seconds later the X-Wing jolted to a stop with a tremendous splash.  

"Oof!" Danaé gasped as her chest slammed into her harnesses, nearly knocking all the air from her lungs.  Her back smacked roughly into the seat again on the recoil, and she sat silently for a minute until she could breathe again.  Then she heard quite noticeable gurgling sounds and felt the X-Wing beginning to sink further into the water of the bog.  Quickly she removed her helmet, unsnapped her harnesses, and tapped the button to open her cockpit canopy.  

She stood up in the cockpit and looked around.  In the thick soupy fog hanging over the swamp she could see only a few yards in each direction, but she surmised the dark shapes through the mist were trees rising from nearby shores.  Behind her she heard Artoo beep a question.  Turning around, she saw he had extracted himself from his station on the rear of the ship and was slowing rolling forward on three legs.  

"Be careful, Artoo," she warned gruffly.  "I do _not_ want to have to clean you up if you fall into this mess.  Got it?"  The astromech stopped where he was and blooped a chagrined apology.  

Danaé stretched out her feelings into the Force and probed the swamp around her.  She determined the water of the bog was only waist deep, and the shore was indeed only a few yards away.  "Okay, Artoo," she smiled.  "I'm going over to the dry land," she pointed with her left hand.  "Then I'll get you."  A happy bloop came back in reply.  

She reached around for the single braid of long brown hair that trailed all the way to the small of her back and wrapped it into a tight bun on the back of her head.  Then she unclipped her lightsaber handle from her belt.  Looking down at her white flight suit, she chuckled.  _It's a good thing I'm not as vain as Leia…_  Danaé swung her legs over the edge of the open cockpit and sat there for a moment.  She stretched back inside to tap the button to close the canopy again just before she released her hold and plopped gently into the water.  "Oh, wow," she grinned.  "It's nice and warm."  She sloshed her way toward the shore, holding her hands up over her head to keep them and her lightsaber dry.  With each step her boots stuck briefly in the mud at the bottom of the swamp.  

Halfway along her trek she sensed what seemed to be a fairly significant example of indigenous swamp life swimming toward her from the side.  She stopped in her tracks and surged her awareness toward it in the living Force.  Apparently it was some form of eel, almost as large as she.  She waved her free hand through the air and projected a sensation of danger and threatening ferocity to the aquatic beast.  Instantly the eel spun around and fled.  Danaé allowed herself a small smile as she slogged the rest of the way to the solid ground and pulled herself up from the water.  

She turned around to face the half-sunken X-Wing.  Artoo toodled apprehensively as the maroon-and-white vessel shifted again and sank a bit further into the swamp.  "Okay, okay," she laughed.  Danaé raised her right arm straight out from her body and closed her eyes.  She dropped her mind into the Force.  Immediately it burst into her consciousness like a tidal wave.  The sensation was remarkable, unlike anything she ever had experienced before.  

The bog was teeming with life: trees, vines, algae, birds, snakes, unfamiliar mammals and reptiles, countless fish of various sizes swimming in the waters, frogs, the big eel, and what seemed to be an almost infinite number of insects.  The amount of life energy flowing from and through these swamp creatures nearly overpowered her mind.  Yet she held her focus and drew on the raging currents of energy.  Bolstered by the power of the living beings around her, floating Artoo gently through the air to settle next to her was amazingly easy.  

Danaé lowered her arm and opened her eyes.  "Is that better?"  Artoo toodled a warm burst of thanks.  "That's good."  She heard another ominous slurp and looked up again to see water covering almost all of her starfighter.  _At least I remembered to close the canopy._  

Danaé used her gloved hands to rub the gobs of mud and tangles of algae from the now very muddied pants of her white flight suit.  Then she removed her discolored white gloves and tucked them into her belt next to her lightsaber.  Fortunately she knew she had a few bottles of clean water and a water purifier unit among her supplies.  

"Okay, Artoo," she sighed.  "Time to get the ship out."  

The droid blooped indignantly.  "No, no," she chuckled.  "I didn't mean you.  I meant me."  

Artoo beeped in confusion.  "Of course I can lift it.  Why wouldn't I be able to?"

The astromech did not relent.  "Well, yes, I suppose it is pretty heavy."

"It doesn't matter, though.  As long as I hold my concentration."  

"Yes, I'm serious."  

"You have so little faith in me.  Just watch."  Danaé again raised her right arm straight out into the air and closed her eyes.  And again she drew on the tremendous waves of the living Force washing over her.  She locked her concentration on the starfighter that was by now almost completely submerged in the water.  Slowly she began to lift the ship directly upward in the air, using the Force to brush away the muck and underwater plants that clung to the lowered landing gear.  Freed from the weights of the swamp bottom the X-Wing rose smoothly out of the water.  Danaé held the levitating craft a few feet above the murky bog's surface, then slowly turned her body as she directed it toward a small clearing in the trees a few dozen yards away.  When its ponderous movement finally ended the starfighter rocked lightly on its landing gear, still dripping with water and mud and draped with long strands of swamp foliage.  

Artoo wobbled from side to side as he blooped excitedly and toodled proudly.  

Danaé could not react.  Her eyes popped open, her arm slumped to her side, and she gasped for air.  Her focus had been so intense that she had not noticed the effects on her body of her profound concentration and exertion.  Still gulping breaths she dropped ungracefully to her knees and clutched her hands over her abdomen.  

Artoo spun his dome toward her and beeped with concern.  Danaé shook her head.  "No… it's… okay… I'm… fine… I just… need to get… some air."  After a few more calm, deep breaths she rose to her feet again and leaned down to wipe the mud off her knees and shins.  She patted Artoo on his dome and indicated the X-Wing with her other hand.  "Time to unload the supplies, buddy.  Then I'll clean up the ship a bit before I meditate."  She grinned broadly.  "It will be great to meditate here – the living Force flows so strongly in this place."  

She strode confidently toward the starfighter, her toes squishing in the water and mud that had seeped into her boots during her walk through the swamp.  Rolling behind her Artoo beeped another question.  

"No, actually.  I don't plan to look for Master Yoda.  Dad said not to bother."  Artoo blooped again.  

"Because," she laughed with amusement, "he'll come find us."  

---

Leia stood in a cramped mechanical closet on the _Falcon_, using a pair of pliers to rearrange a set of wires in an open fuse box just above her eye level.  Part of the damage the freighter had suffered from its close encounter with the bounty hunter's torpedoes was a troublesome series of electromagnetic disturbances that continued to plague one of the port drives.  Han had given her a set of instructions that purportedly would cure the problem.  Elsewhere on the starship Chewie, Lando, Sarré, and Threepio also were assisting with attempts to bring other failing systems fully on line again too.  And all this had to be completed before they dropped from hyperspace in the Pharenniol system a few hours from now.  

While she carefully disconnected a blue wire and began work on its red counterpart, she tried to control her frenetic emotions.  For weeks she had been excited to take this trip and to see Han again.  Then, suddenly, just before her departure the endless series of admonitions from her family had shaken her confidence utterly.  She wondered if she had made a terrible mistake in taking this mission.  Even Sarré's gentle reassurance had not been enough to restore her composure.  

With the red wire successfully freed, she worked to connect the blue wire to its new home.  _What's wrong with me?_ she wondered.  _How can I go from ready, to not ready, to ready, to not ready again in a few days?  I don't understand what's happening.  I'm not supposed to be like this._  She sighed loudly in frustration, pausing for a moment to tug at the short looping braids in her hair with one hand while she rubbed the other along her side to add more grime to her now very dirty azure flight suit. 

Absorbed in her own deep thoughts she didn't hear Han's footsteps, so she flinched in surprise when he stuck his head through the open doorway and spoke.  

"Everything going alright for you, Princess?"  

"Don't _do_ that!" she barked.  

"Do what?" he asked, a little taken aback.  

"Sneak up on me."

"Sorry, Your Highnessness," he chuckled through a bemused smile.  He stepped all the way inside the closet and leaned in to inspect her work.  

Suddenly Leia noticed how close their bodies were.  She could hear him breathe, smell his aftershave, see the small beads of sweat on the back of his neck and the spots of dirt and specks of grease on his white shirt and black vest.  Her heart started to race.  

"Hey, you really do know what you're doing," Han grinned as he leaned back from the fuse box to face her.  

She glared at him.  "You act as though you're surprised."  

"Well, maybe I am," he laughed.  "I mean, it's one thing for a Senator to be trained in some self-defense and gunnery and things like that.  But repair?  Yeah, it's a little surprising."  

Leia's frown turned into a self-satisfied smile.  "I guess so.  It's not from being a Senator."  Unconsciously she leaned back against the wall, creating just a bit more space between them.  "My father worked on podracers and droids before he became a Jedi.  He's an expert at fixing things.  We couldn't grow up in his house without picking some of that up too."  

Han nodded thoughtfully.  "It's not a bad skill to have, no matter what you do in life."  

She realized he was looking closely into her eyes, and without wanting to she flinched again.  Her eyes found the open fuse box on the wall.  "I should finish this up."

"Go right ahead."  

While she started to work on reattaching the blue wire again, he didn't move.  He just stood there.  Watching her.  She could feel his eyes on her face.  And her body.  She liked it.  A lot.  But she tried hard not to reveal it when she spoke again.  "Don't you have something you should be doing too?"  

"Yeah, probably."  Nonetheless he gave no indication that he intended to leave. 

"Oh, you make it so difficult sometimes," she grumbled without looking at him.  

"I do.  I really do."  He leaned in closer until his face hovered just over her shoulder.  "Come on.  Admit it.  Sometimes you think I'm a pretty good guy."  

"Occasionally.   Maybe."  She sighed deeply, still unwilling to look at him.  "When you aren't acting like a scoundrel."  As soon as the word left her mouth she regretted it.  _Blast you, Sarré!  You're going to pay for this!_

"Scoundrel?" he chuckled victoriously.  "I like the sound of that." 

"It's not a compliment."

"It sounded like one to me."

Leia finally pulled her eyes from the fuse box and glared at him again.  "I don't know where you get your delusions, laser brain."  

Han smirked at her and held her gaze intensely.  "Whatever you say, Princess."  

Just as she was about to fire a retort at him, her hand slipped inside the fuse box and smacked against a metal plate along its bottom.  "Ow!"  She yanked her hand out and waved it briskly in the air between them.  

"Watch it there, sweetheart," he said calmly.  Gently he took her wrist in one hand and raised her hand up toward his face.  "There's no cut.  You'll be fine."  With his free hand he tenderly began to massage her palm where a red welt was beginning to form.  

She knew for certain his hand around her wrist could feel the thundering of her rapid pulse.  "Stop that," she ordered. 

"Stop what?" he answered snidely with a lopsided grin.  

"Stop that.  My hands are dirty."  

"My hands are dirty too," he grinned.  "What are you afraid of?"  

"Afraid?" she gasped.  She sounded like a fool and she was becoming progressively angrier with herself for it.  "I'm not afraid," she insisted firmly.  

"Really?  Then why are you trembling?"  He pulled up her sore hand and touched the welt very briefly to his lips.  As he lowered them again he took both of her hands in his and his face leaned in toward hers.  

Leia's willpower collapsed completely.  Her heart blasted through her brain and up out of her body – or so it felt to her.  She knew he had her.  There was nothing else she could say.  He was right.  "I'm not trembling," she lied, knowing what was coming next and trying mightily not to die of anticipation over the next few seconds.  

"Oh yeah, you are," he whispered in the split second before he kissed her.  

She felt as if she was about to faint when his lips finally touched hers.  The kiss was soft and tender.  Affectionate.  Something she had missed so much.  Without realizing she was doing it, she squeezed his hands tightly and her body tilted in toward his, and she could not stop herself from letting a small moan of joy burst in her throat.  

A few heartbeats later Han broke the kiss and leaned his head back from hers just an inch.  

Their eyes were locked in an intense stare of incredible power and depth.  To her it really seemed as if this moment might last an eternity.  

"Sir!  Sir!"

See Threepio had picked that precise instant to appear in the open doorway, and the protocol droid was shouting excitedly no less.  "We've isolated the problem with the radial capacitor, sir!" 

Their hands shot apart and flew to their respective waists as Han spun awkwardly in the enclosed space to face the droid.  

"It seems the polarities on two of the power couplings have become reversed," Threepio explained theatrically.  "As soon as the matter is corrected we should be back to usual functioning in no time." 

"Thank you," Han said in disgust.  "Thank you very much."

"Oh, you're perfectly welcome, sir," Threepio responded obliviously, turning to make his way back down the hallway.  

Leia was by now focused on her wiring repairs again.  From the corner of her eye she could see Han take a quick glance over his shoulder at her.  But the moment between them had passed, and he stalked out to chase down Threepio for a more thorough explanation.  

As soon as she was sure he was gone, Leia dropped her hands to her sides and let her back thump ungracefully into the wall.  She tilted her head upward, resting the back of her head against the cold metal.  She tried to take a series of deep, calming breaths, but to no avail.  _I'm still trembling_, she thought.  _I'm still trembling._

---****

Mara stared at the low ceiling of the darkened bedchamber on the nondescript passenger liner traveling from Corellia to Kuat, then destined for a path through the Mid Rim and ultimately to Tatooine.  Without consulting them the Operations Office at the Temple had requisitioned a single room for the journey.  So now she and Luke were arranged together on the one narrow bed, both lying on their backs in their full Jedi robes, their adjacent shoulders touching ever so slightly.  

The physical discomfort she could tolerate.  It was the emotional wall he had built between them that she was unwilling to permit.  

She took a deep breath and finally spoke, keeping her voice hushed.  "Why are you shutting me out, Luke?" 

There was no reaction in the Force.  None at all.  His barriers were firm and unrelenting.  "I've got a lot on my mind," he sighed.  "And not all of it I want to share with you."  

The bitterness in his voice stung her like a painful insect bite.  "I thought you were glad to get out of the Temple," she said quietly.  "To have a real mission.  Something to do that actually matters."  

"Yeah, sure.  If you say so," he scoffed, shifting his weight incrementally on the bed.  His shoulder no longer touched hers at all.  

"You don't think this mission matters?"

"Consider the facts, Mara," he said disgustedly.  "The Sith have returned to the galaxy.  There's going to be a war in the Mid Rim.  And we're going off to some remote, life-forsaken sandpit to find two Padawans who probably got lost in the desert.  How does that matter?  In the scheme of things?"  

"Um, Luke," she replied mischievously, "your father grew up there.  I'd be careful what you say."  

"Yeah, well, he's not here.  I'll call that ugly lump of rock whatever I like."

"Fine."  She rolled slightly on her side, trying to see his face better in the darkness.  "Not everything we do has to be about the grand scheme of things.  Bringing peace to a troubled planet, or shutting down a slave trader, or even just making a small difference in someone's life, those are all important things the Order does."

"It's not that I don't think those things are important," he insisted rather unconvincingly.  "It's just that, with all that's going on…  I guess what I mean is, if this is all there is to my life, to being a Jedi, then why was I even born?" 

She was so stunned she didn't say anything for nearly a minute.  "What's that supposed to mean, Luke?"

"Come on, Mara.  Think about it."  He blew out a deep breath angrily.  "My father.  The Chosen One.  Conceived by the will of the Force itself and destined to defeat the Sith and bring the Force into balance forever.  As opaque as those ancient words actually are, you know what they call it now, right?  The Skywalker Prophecy.  Not the Chosen One Prophecy, like they used to.  No.  The _Skywalker_ Prophecy."  The venom in his voice for those final three words chilled the air between them.  "I'm his son.  I'm a Skywalker.  And all I'm meant to do is rescue incompetent apprentices from their own misfortune?"  

"First of all," she said sharply, "we _don't_ know what the situation on Tatooine is, and we won't until we get the final set of data and can starting checking into it ourselves.  And second, you think it's any easier for me?"  

"How?" he chuckled.  "How it is at all difficult for you?"  

"I'm his apprentice, you idiot," she growled.  "Everyone expects me to be the most powerful learner in the Temple.  They expect me to be the best at every single skill, every single technique.  All the time I hear the rumors and the talk."  Her voice imitated the harsh, mocking tone of malicious gossip.  "'Why hasn't she taken the Trials yet?'  'Something must be wrong with her.'  'Why else would he be holding her back?'"  

"I hadn't realized that," he conceded softly.  "Still," he persisted after a moment, "it's different being a Skywalker.  Danaé feels the pressure too."  He sighed.  "It's like we're letting Dad down by being ordinary."  

"You're not ordinary," she insisted firmly.  "And you're not letting him down.  I'm certain of it.  He's very proud of you.  All four of you.  You know that." 

"I guess."  He paused to clear his thoughts.  "I mean, you're right.  But I can't shake this feeling I have, that something is missing.  That there's more to my existence than just these Jedi missions over and over again."

"I feel the same way," she admitted for the first time to him.  "I'm apprenticed to the greatest hero the Jedi Order has ever had.  There has to be a reason.  A purpose to it.  Not that I've found it yet, obviously."  

"Who knows?" he laughed.  "Maybe this mission will turn out well after all.  But sitting here and complaining about it isn't going to solve anything."  

"The famous Skywalker insight," she chuckled sarcastically.  "You have almost as much as he does!"  

He joined her laughter, and it eased both of their spirits.  She realized she had sensed his lighter mood, and very delicately she reached into the Force to test his barriers.  They remained, but they were lower, weaker, and less strident.  Cautiously she rolled onto her back again and rested her shoulder against his once more.  He did not move away.  

She decided it was time to change the subject to something he'd be more forthcoming about.  "You're worried about Leia too, aren't you?"  

"Some," he admitted quietly.  "I hope she doesn't regret this." 

She couldn't suppress her chuckle.  "I think she can take care of herself.  No man has ever seduced her, and no man ever will."  

In the dim light he cracked a faint smile.  "Yeah.  That's not what I meant, though."  

"What, then?"

"I just don't want her to get hurt.  To be too disappointed if things don't work out the way I think she's hoping."  

Mara shook her head.  "If she thinks she's ready to fall in love again, you shouldn't doubt her."  

Luke nodded.  "Sure.  It's just her choice I'm worried about."

"Like you're really one to talk about poor choices," she teased.  Instantly she worried she shouldn't have said it, and wondered frantically how to retract it.  

Fortunately Luke took the jest in stride.  "A fair point."  His voice remained unconvinced.  "But I also never put much on the line with those decisions.  I didn't let myself get vulnerable, not the way she might be doing with Solo.  And I'm just really concerned he's going to break her heart." 

"Well, then you'll have to have faith in her," Mara soothed gently.  One set of hands almost was touching too.  Very gingerly she reached out and clasped her fingers against his palm.  

He did not react at all to the gesture, other than by not rejecting it.  "I know.  She always has faith in me."  

"I do too," she whispered.  

---

A crowd of several thousand well-dressed dignitaries and citizens stood patiently in front of a large stage erected at the edge of a broad grassy plain on the Core world of Nubia.  In the distance an ancient forest stretched for miles, covering the low foothills to a mountain range that rose at the visible horizon.  A dull murmur of conversation mixed with the shrill calls of birds and the whistling of the brisk autumn wind.  

At the rear of the gathering where he could keep a close eye on the stage, Darth Malus tugged his black cloak more tightly around his body to ward off the chill.  He scanned the throng of wealthy patrons of the Supreme Chancellor until he found Darth Delicti on the far side of the lawn, calmly weaving her way through the crowd toward the stage.  A satisfied smile crossed his lips, and his free hand stroked his short black-and-gray beard in anticipation.

A middle-aged man in opulent purple robes strode to the podium and began to speak.  "Thank you all for coming today," he announced loudly to quiet the undercurrent.  "We are pleased to welcome home our native son for this dedication ceremony of the Supreme Chancellor Gannis Trellem Nature Preserve.  It is my honor to introduce the first speaker.  He is…"  

Malus tuned out the pompous oratory and scanned the situation again.  There were two Jedi Knights at the base of the stage, which held about three dozen planetary and Republic officials, including the Chancellor.  Two more Jedi, a man and a woman, were stationed to the rear along one side, only a few paces away from him.  His eyes met Deliciti's, and she nodded confidently to him.  

He reached down to his belt and unclipped his lightsaber.  Clutching the handle firmly, he raised his other hand to his lips and used two fingers to blow out a high-pitched, piercing whistle.  Enhanced by the Force the sharp noise startled everyone present.  Simultaneously Delicti flicked her wrist and smashed with a blast of invisible energy the trio of Holonet cameras broadcasting the scene to the galaxy.  

That distraction was the only advantage the Sith needed.  

In a flash Malus surged to the pair of nearby Jedi with his brilliant ruby blade whirling over his head.  The two Knights reached for their lightsabers, but it was too late.  With a single swift whirling arc Malus chopped off the man's weapon hand, decapitated the woman, and impaled the man through the heart.  His first task completed, he charged into the crowd, striking down as many of the gathered dignitaries as he could.  

In the same instant Delicti lunged at the two Jedi at the stage, slicing a mortal blow across the Cerean's chest and impaling the human through the abdomen.  A Force-assisted double back flip launched her into the air and brought her down again beside the now-silent speaker.  Reversing her grip, Delicti stabbed her red blade backwards to kill the man.  Then she drew the shimmering lightsaber up over her head in both hands and swung a powerful blow straight down on the horrified Supreme Chancellor.  

As soon as the Sith had slain the Jedi, nearly two dozen undercover Vyhrragian agents drew blasters and began to shoot indiscriminately into the crowd.  From around the broad lawn the thirty Republic soldiers in the Chancellor's security detail tried to return fire with their rifles.  The undercover agents blended into the innocent multitude, however, and the Sith either moved too quickly or simply deflected away the bolts with their lightsabers.  

By the time Republic reinforcements arrived too many minutes later, the enemy forces had vanished and the blood of the dead stained the bright green grass with gruesome rivers of crimson. 

---

Sarré moved as quickly as she could toward the cockpit through the _Falcon_'s cramped passages.  A few minutes earlier an urgent bulletin had been received over the designated emergency frequency, instructing Leia to contact her mother immediately.  Han and Chewie had set the freighter on autopilot and gone to find her handmaiden.  When Sarré arrived she heard no voices speaking, so she anxiously burst inside.  "Sorry I'm late," she said quickly while catching her breath.  "I haven't been feeling well and I was resting and I…"

Leia spun around in the pilot's seat but did not say a word.  Her face had gone completely pale and her hand was shaking as she waved off Sarré's rambling apology.  

Her friend's appearance stopped Sarré cold in her tracks.  "Leia?  What's going on?" 

"It's…  It's…  It's just awful."

Sarré managed to get her legs to work again and sat down across from Leia in the much-too-big co-pilot's chair.  "What happened?"  

"At Nubia," Leia rasped, forcing the words past her constricted throat.  "It was a massacre."  

Sarré reached over and gently took Leia's hands.  

"There was a ceremony.  To dedicate a nature preserve, I guess.  Two of the Sith were there, and some spies apparently.  They just killed everyone they could."

Sarré stayed silent, giving Leia the time she needed.  

Leia choked down a sob.  "Over nine hundred were killed."

Sarré looked into her friend's eyes and could see true fear.  "There's something more, isn't there?"

"Yes," Leia nodded weakly.  "The Chancellor is dead."  

"Wow," Sarré sighed, utterly shocked by the news.  "This is really bad."  

"It is," Leia whispered.  

"How do we know who it was already?  Trellem has a lot of enemies.  Couldn't it have been anyone?"

"They tried to knock out the Holonet cameras, but they didn't know there was a spare.  One of the reporters got some clear images of the Sith Lords.  And the security team managed to kill one of the spies.  They're confident he's Vyhrragian." 

Sarré sat quietly for a moment, trying to come to grips with the stunning turn the crisis had taken.  After a deep breath she looked intensely into Leia's eyes.  "Do we have to go back to the capital?"

"No," Leia shook her head.  "We're not returning.  This mission is important.  And we'd never get there in time anyway."  She wiped her eyes again.  "My Mom and your Mom will just have to deal with the Senate for us." 

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

--- 

In a dark room Darth Vengous crossed her black-robed arms and leaned her elbows on the table while she watched the wavering blue image form above her holoprojector.  "I will hear your report, Lord Malus."   

"Yes, Master," the hooded figure replied.  "The mission was a success.  The target is eliminated, the slaughter is accomplished, and the clues are there for the finding.  Everything worked perfectly."  

"Indeed.  The Holonet already is casting blame on Argis and the Crusaders of Justice," the Sith Master nodded appreciatively.  "So, my friend, how many Jedi met their destiny today?"

"Only four, unfortunately."  The image paused momentarily.  "And, if I may be so bold, they put up disappointingly poor resistance."  

Vengous nodded in acknowledgement.  "That is to be expected, Lord Malus.  They are no match for us."  

"Yes, Master," Malus agreed.  "We will be arriving at the rendezvous point shortly."  

"You have done well, apprentice."  With a wave of her hand, Vengous terminated the feed.  From beneath the cowl of her black cloak she lifted her eyes to meet the steely gaze of the pale, gaunt man seated across the small table.  "It is as I have foreseen."  

"The first stage is always the simplest," General Tarkin replied flatly.  "The next will be considerably more complicated."  Then the elderly tactician chuckled knowingly.  "Not that I doubt you will succeed, of course."

---****

Sabé sat calmly in the Naboo delegation's pod in the massive bowl of the Galactic Senate.  For the last five hours the debate had been raging among the Senators with an intensity she had not witnessed in many, many years.  Behind her in the pod Nalé and Representative Tickis remained utterly silent, equally entranced and appalled by the enmity on display.  Secretly Sabé was pleased by their attentiveness – this was an experience unlikely to be repeated for quite some time.  

Not that she was surprised by the debate's ferocity, of course.  In the rapidly deteriorating Vyhrragian crisis the selection of the next Supreme Chancellor was of monumental importance.  

The Senate had been called into emergency session as soon as word of Trellem's assassination had arrived.  Although the body formally had been in recess, due to the crisis environment most of the delegates had remained on Coruscant to continue the ever-present negotiations and quarrels over the progress of the conflict.  Those who had departed the capital had left trusted subordinates behind, and most were directly involved in their delegation's actions in the session by means of long-distance transmission or Holonet feed.  

When the session had begun on the morning of the second day after the Massacre at Nubia, the two expected nominations had been moved immediately.  The peace faction had proposed Senator Breena of Rodia, a veteran of their bloc and member of the now-disgraced task force sent to the summit at Malastare.  The defense faction had offered Senator Bail Millius of Alderaan, the young, brash, highly skilled legislator who had led the criticism of Trellem's handling of the Vyhrragian crisis since its inception.  The speeches from delegates on both sides, in favor of or in opposition to the candidates, were almost concluded.  

In fact, only one remained.  

The pod of Senator-at-Large Skywalker released from its moorings near the huge chamber's floor and rose into a hover a short distance from the central podium, which was occupied temporarily by the Twi'lek Senator Rylla of Ryloth in his capacity as chairman of the Rules Committee.  The pod's sole occupant wore a striking blue gown and an elaborate Naboo hairstyle that somehow gave her presence more gravity than it already possessed.  

The speech had been written weeks ago in anticipation of this vote.  Working together Padmé, Jenny, Leia, Sarré, Tickis, Sabé, and Millius had crafted the perfect address to conclude the defense faction's arguments.  They had not known precisely what disaster would befall the Republic or what exact action the Vyhrragians or the Sith would take, of course.  But they had known one was coming sooner or later.  And they also had known that when it did, the time to demolish the peace faction's hopes of retaining the chancellorship would have arrived.  Once the text had been finished, the only remaining question had been whether Padmé or Leia would deliver it.  Events had provided that answer for them.  

Patiently and deliberately Padmé began to speak.  "Chairman Rylla, fellow delegates, honorable representatives of the Republic.  A tragedy has occurred.  One that began right here, in this most hallowed of chambers.  This august body, the pinnacle of our political society and bastion of freedom and justice for the Galaxy, is responsible for the death of a friend, a leader, and a good man."  

Sabé smiled.  The opening words echoed another speech, three decades earlier, in another time of crisis.  Most of the delegates around her, she knew, would not fail to comprehend the reference to the present speaker's first appearance before the Galactic Senate.  And Padmé, as she always did, had struck just the right tone in her description of the martyred Chancellor – honoring his memory without praising him too highly.  Listening to the speech, Sabé followed along in her mental log of its text.  So fully was she immersed in Padmé's cadence that she did not perceive it when she leaned forward expectantly, nodded in agreement, or pumped her fist in support.  

"… is at an end," Padmé was declaring far below.  "Argis has maintained that he seeks only economic prosperity for the impoverished, fairness for the downtrodden, and justice for the exploited.  Senator Millius has rejected these claims since the beginning.  He has revealed, time and again, how Argis' actions betray his true motives.  The New Justice movement is a fraud.  It always has been and always will be."  Padmé paused very briefly, letting the condemnation hang in the air.  "Argis wants nothing more than power, pure and simple.  He seeks not prosperity but conquest.  Not fairness but domination.  Not justice but tyranny.  His reign of terror in the Mid Rim has continued for too long already.  The time has come to end it.  And when we elect Senator Millius as Supreme Chancellor, today will mark the beginning of that end."

A loud roar of applause interrupted the address.  Sabé, however, only clapped lightly.  The defense faction's leadership council had performed a rapid analysis of the situation in the Senate before the debate, which had given them considerable confidence that Millius would prevail.  And the peace faction's orators had done little to benefit their cause.  So in her heart Sabé believed the outcome already was determined.  But she wanted to save her loudest approval for the stark finish that only she and a handful of others knew was coming.  

After listing Argis' crimes and betrayals and renouncing him yet again, Padmé straightened her shoulders and increased the pace of her delivery almost imperceptibly.  "And so, my fellow Senators, I call on you to cast your vote for Senator Millius of Alderaan as the next Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.  Do so for the sake of goodness and righteousness in the Galaxy.  Do so for your constituents.  Do so for the families of the soldiers who fight and die for the Republic in this conflict.  Do so for yourself.  Most of all, do so because it is the only decision possible in these terrible times."  Padmé paused, focusing her concentration on the speech's concluding words.  "For many years you have known me as a staunch supporter of negotiation and compromise, as a firm believer that war must be a last resort only when all other alternatives have failed.  I say this to you, my honorable colleagues…"  For the briefest of moments Padmé paused again, holding the rapt attention of everyone in the chamber before she raised her voice only slightly to emphasize forcefully her final admonition.  "_Now is such a moment._  I have come to this conclusion, and beseech you to do the same.  You must see the choice before you today for what it truly is.  It is a choice between inaction and action.  Between capitulation and confrontation.  Between surrender and triumph.  Between defeat and victory.  You must do the duty you were elected to do, as I will do mine.  May the Force be with you."  

This time Sabé joined the thunderous ovation for Senator-at-Large Skywalker.  She sprang to her feet and cheered proudly for her dear friend.  

Minutes later when the votes were cast and tallied, the outcome turned out to be far from close.  The delegates of the Senate then sat in profound silence while Bail Millius solemnly took the oath of office as Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.  

---

Bryon sat at the long wooden table in the stateroom of a Republic Navy frigate above Corellia, making entries on his datapad for the draft of his battle assessment report.  He had not yet received his next assignment, which was highly unusual given the ongoing hostilities, but he attributed the delay to Army Central Command's patient deference to the recently resolved political leadership struggle in the Senate.  For days he had analyzed the course of the fighting at the planetside manufacturing plant and the orbital shipyard, and he had come to the conclusion that given the units allotted to the mission the result was acceptable.  The number of casualties was high, but the enemy had been defeated without inflicting any significant damage to the facilities.  Certainly there were small aspects of the operation that could have been carried out differently – but he could not allow the perfect clarity of hindsight to cloud his judgment of the innumerable instantaneous decisions made during the fierce skirmishes.  

A weak, tentative knock at the open door interrupted his train of thought.  "What?" he barked gruffly.

"I'm sorry, sir," his staff secretary apologized fearfully.  "There's an urgent transmission from Coruscant for you.  From the Senate."  

"Very well, Kessa," he nodded, his eyes never leaving the datapad.  "Put it through."  

The young woman turned and fled.  A moment later the viewscreen on the wall at the far end of the table activated and a clear image formed, but still he did not look up at it.  "Bryon?" 

He nearly jumped from his seat at the sound of his mother's voice.  "Oh, Mom.  Um.  It's good to see you.  Sorry," he stammered.  Unconsciously his hands adjusted the fit of the jacket of his dress-whites uniform.  "I was just trying to finish this and I…"

"It's fine, Bryon," Padmé smiled warmly.  "I have a request for you from Supreme Chancellor Millius.  I hope you don't mind that he asked me to deliver it."  

Bryon had followed the proceedings in the Senate live over the Holonet and was well aware of who his new Commander-in-Chief was.  "No, Mom, of course not."  

"For obvious reasons he intends to upgrade the security contingent assigned to the entire Senate, as well as to the Supreme Chancellor personally, effective immediately.  As soon as possible he would like a company of Special Forces for his guards.  With you in command."  

Bryon suspected he had a dumbfounded look on his face, but there was nothing he could do about it.  "I would be honored," he said after a deep breath to collect himself.  "I will depart for Coruscant right away."

"Thank you, Bryon.  The Chancellor knows of your reputation in the Army, and how highly I speak of you.  This was not a difficult decision for him."

"Thanks, Mom," he nodded shyly.  "Oh, and Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I thought your speech was amazing.  It was very moving."  

"Thanks, dear."  Her image looked back over her shoulder.  "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mom."  When the viewscreen shut down, Bryon turned off his datapad and burst from the stateroom.  After only a few long strides he found Kessa seated in a chair in the nearby officers' lounge, working at her own datapad.  "Walk with me," he said quickly.  

Without a word the timid corporal leapt from her seat and scampered along at his elbow.  

"We must leave for Coruscant without delay.  Find Graff, Pryzill, and Krannar and inform them.  Then contact Command and find out which companies of the Special Forces are two weeks or less from their latest leave.  I need a fresh one.  If Delta company meets the criterion, and I think it does, I want them.  Otherwise, bring me the list.  Then issue the orders to deploy the designated company to Coruscant immediately, with me as commanding officer.  Don't worry, Command already knows about this so it won't be a problem.  After that I need you to…"

---

The two Jedi Masters drew their brown cloaks around their tan robes and prepared to disembark from the _Lady Vader_.  Before lowering the boarding ramp, however, Anakin turned around briefly to speak to the black-and-gold astromech droid waiting for final instructions halfway back up the narrow cabin hallway.  

"Security protocol one, Jaytoo," he said simply.  Not only was no one but a Skywalker or Obi-Wan to be allowed on board, but the droid was authorized to use the starship's concealed weapons against anyone who tried to break their way inside.  When the droid blooped and whistled in acknowledgement, Anakin smiled.  "Very good.  I have my comlink if you need to contact me."  

As the droid wheeled around and rolled toward the cockpit, Anakin spun back to face his companion.  "Are you ready?" 

"I am," Obi-Wan nodded, absentmindedly scratching his short white beard.  

"No reason to wait, then," Anakin chuckled.  He ran his fingers twice through his short gray hair.  Then, simultaneously with his old friend, he pulled up the hood of his cloak to cover his head and conceal his face.  

The pair emerged into a small side hangar at the Royal Palace complex in Theed.  To preserve the element of surprise the secrecy of their arrival was essential.  And as they had been for decades, the zealously loyal guards were more than happy to oblige the former Queen Amidala or her husband.  Walking quickly across the spacious marble room they disappeared into the maze of secret passageways on the Palace's waterfall side.  

Soon they ambled effortlessly through the late evening crowds in the city's wide streets, the orange glow of the setting sun lighting the boulevards as they headed in the general direction of the Cathedral of the Liberation.  They had intended to arrive here within a day of Anakin's nightmarish vision from the Force, but the Chancellor's assassination and the subsequent succession election had necessitated that they remain on Coruscant to monitor the political situation in the Senate with the rest of the Jedi Council.  Now that Millius had several days as Supreme Chancellor under his belt, they finally had been able to depart the Temple to investigate the vision and attempt to discern its meaning.  

"Have you had any more time to consider what we might find?" asked Anakin quietly as they stepped around an enthusiastic discussion among a quartet of Gungan youths.  

"Some," Obi-Wan sighed.  "Not as much as I would like."  He paused, choosing his words carefully.  "I believe there are two likely alternatives.  The first is that the vision depicts an actual future encounter between you and the present Sith Master.  The representation was highly symbolic, of course, as all Force revelations are.  Nonetheless, the details are telling."

"I agree," Anakin nodded.  "The first location marked the emergence of Sidious, and the second his demise.  It would seem probable the third location would have some relation to the new Master."  Then he blew out a frustrated sigh.  "Perhaps if I had been able to remain controlled, I might have seen a fourth location related to her defeat."  

"Perhaps, perhaps not.  You can't know that, Anakin, and wondering about it will not accomplish anything."

"I know, Obi-Wan.  I'm doing my best to put those thoughts aside."  He paused while they pushed their way past a large crowd outside a very pleasantly fragrant bakery.  "And the second alternative?" 

"The vision may be entirely metaphorical.  It is possible these parallels are not literal relationships but rather clues to be interpreted – clues that once we understand their meaning will lead us to the Sith Master.  If this is true, I have no doubt that examining the Cathedral and meditating further about the vision here on Naboo will be of benefit to us."  

"I have considered that possibility as well, and I agree with your assessment.  Perhaps there is a clue waiting for us in one of the window images, idols, or prayer plaques inside the building.  We may have to examine all of those before we can know with any certainty which alternative is the correct one."  

"That is true," Obi-Wan agreed.  After they had walked in contemplative silence for several minutes, Obi-Wan decided that they needed to ease their spirits before undertaking this important investigation.  "Well, Anakin, there has been no word from Luke and Mara yet.  I suppose we must take that as a good sign."

"Yes, I think we can," Anakin chuckled.  "They are never shy about complaining when the information they are provided is inadequate.  So apparently they have been able to proceed." 

"Were you surprised that Leia did not return to Coruscant after the assassination?"

"No.  She has her mother's rationality.  She would have known she could not have arrived in time to participate.  So I expected this decision from her."

"A very sensible one, I think," Obi-Wan smiled deviously.  

"Not like one I would have made in my youth, you mean?" Anakin laughed.  "I won't argue with that.  And besides, I think she had another reason to stay on her mission.  One more in line with the Skywalker influence."

Obi-Wan peered out from beneath the cowl of his cloak and raised his eyebrows.  "A certain Navy officer?"

Anakin flashed a lopsided grin.  "Your insight serves you well, my friend."

"I thought you were skeptical of her relationship with Captain Solo?"

"There's no relationship, at least that I am aware of.  Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted she's ready to be happy with someone again.  I'm just not convinced about this particular man, that's all."  

Obi-Wan smiled.  "But you have an open mind?"  

Anakin laughed.  "If I learned one thing from you, old man, it's that a Jedi always must be willing to see the circumstances from a different point of view."


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

It was late in the evening when Bryon strode down the long, wide corridor of the Galactic Senate building with exhaustion clearly evident in the slump of his shoulders and his sluggish gait.  Outside the broad windows the sun had set and the impressive cityscape in the distance glittered with countless multicolored dots of light.  The usually bustling hallway was nearly empty; the clomping of his boots and rustling of his black fatigues were nearly the only sounds he heard.  

Today had been his first in charge of the newly expanded security detail for Supreme Chancellor Millius.  He had deployed the Special Forces soldiers in Delta company throughout the enormous structure to monitor numerous vulnerable locations and begin to evaluate the weaknesses in their plans of operation.  The two hundred troops had been divided into three shifts to provide round-the-clock protection for the Republic's chief of state.  

As he neared his destination, Bryon reached up and tried in vain to rub the tiredness from his eyes.  It had been an incredibly busy few days, and the implementation of the plans had proven no easier than their review and redesign.  He knew his soldiers would perform exceptionally, as they always did.  Nonetheless, if Argis had succeeded in the assassination of one Chancellor, there was little reason to think he would not be willing to try again.  Although Bryon often preferred active assignments at the front to more passive missions like this one, in this moment he was quite thankful for it.  The incessant skirmishes and covert strikes were grueling.  The stench of death seemed never to leave his nostrils anymore.  And the cruelty and arbitrary brutality of the orders he sometimes had to give, deciding which Republic units would be slain by the enemy and which would live to fight another day, were his constant companions now.  

He always had felt invincible, that his iron will and powerful body never would tire or falter.  After almost a year of nearly continuous killing, however, he wondered if perhaps he was reaching his limits.  

Fortunately Bryon's morbid self-analysis terminated when he waved open the door of the office suite.  A broad smile crossed his face and his shoulders lifted a little as he stopped a few paces in front of the desk in the receiving room.  "Jenny," he sighed happily.  "It's so wonderful to see you."  

His former nanny sprang from her chair and bolted around the dark wooden desk, her single braid of long brown hair flopping in the air as she ran.  Her precisely tailored blue suit seemed to light up along with her face as she slammed him into a tight embrace, her head barely reaching his breastbone as she leaned against him.  "It's a great relief to see you too, Bryon," she said thankfully.  "We're all very worried about you, you know." 

"I know," he nodded as they separated, his eyes lingering on her face.  "It should be better for a while.  Especially when the Chancellor is on Coruscant – the facilities here are locked down tightly.  There's little danger."  

"I hope you're right," she smiled weakly.  

Bryon looked at her carefully.  "You haven't heard anything, have you?  That I haven't been told?"  

"No," his mother's Chief of Staff shook her head.  "We're all still a little shaken by the suddenness of it."  

"That's understandable," he agreed sadly.  "Well, I should go see Mom."  

"Yes, you should," she smiled, ushering him down the suite's hallway toward the main office.  

Padmé was pacing behind her desk and looking aimlessly out the window when they arrived.  She wore an elegant crimson gown that shimmered in the room's soft lights, and she had let down her long brown hair to hang loosely around her shoulders.  Her right hand rested at the base of her throat; although Bryon couldn't see it he knew she was clutching the japoor snippet pendant his father had carved for her all those years ago.  

For a moment Bryon simply stood in place, marveling at how beautiful she was.  Beauty was not something he saw much anymore.  In these rare moments when he did, like seeing Jenny and his mother again, he made sure to absorb it.  

Padmé spun around when she heard Jenny's departing light tap on the doorframe.  "Bryon!" she exclaimed excitedly, rushing to crush him in her arms as best she could.  

"Hi, Mom," he smiled, relishing the heartfelt fierceness of her embrace.  

She refused to release him for nearly a minute.  Finally she stepped back and appraised him.  "You look awful."  

"That's just what I'd hoped you'd say," Bryon managed to laugh.  His mother was nothing if not direct.  

"Really, Bryon," she persisted.  "I can see it in your bearing.  On your face."  She reached up and rested her fingers on his cheek while her thumb very tenderly traced a line under his eye, where dark swaths discolored his skin.  "These circles…  They're…  You're not sleeping, are you?" 

He remained quiet for a long time, unsure whether he could bring himself to tell her the truth.  Finally he decided that he would.  "No.  Every time I close my eyes I see the battles.  I see the faces of soldiers who died because of my orders.  I see the faces of enemies I killed.  I see death."  

Padmé ran her fingers along his cheek as she pulled her hand away.  "Come over here," she directed him, taking him by the hand and tugging him toward one of the sofas in the office.  "Let's sit down."  

Once they were seated next to each other, he blew out a deep breath.  "I can't even tell you how many brownshirts I've killed at this point.  Or how many of our men I've sent to their deaths with an order I gave."  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and letting his face fall into his hands.  "And the worst part is, I don't even feel it anymore.  It means nothing.  Lives are lost and I don't even care."  

"You care.  I know you do," she insisted firmly.  Very gently she brushed her fingers through his short brown hair.  

"No, Mom.  You don't understand," he replied in anguish.  "I decide the fates of all these soldiers, enemy and ally, and I don't feel anything.  It's like… flipping a switch.  Automatic.  Mindless."  He shook his head, and his body jolted as he fought to contain his emotions.  "I feel as though I'm becoming nothing more than a droid, Mom.  I'm more like a machine than I am a person."  

"Look at me," Padmé said with just a hint of sharpness in her voice.  When he did, she stared intensely into his eyes.  "That is _not_ true, Bryon!"  Her tone was harsh, yet also filled with agony in empathy with his pain.  "That is not true at all.  You're a wonderful, kind, loving, generous, warm man.  You always will be.  Nothing, not a war or a battle or any number of casualties, nothing will ever take that away from you.  Ever."  

Trying to stay in control of his feelings, he simply sat there silently and stared down at the floor.  

"I'm so sorry," Padmé said softly.  She reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers.  "I wish there was something I could do to help."   

"The only thing you can do to help is to end this, Mom.  Now.  Make it stop."  

"You know I would, honey, if I could."

"I know."

After a heavy pause, she squeezed his hand reassuringly.  "You don't have those nightmares when you're with Sarré, do you?"  

"Mom!" 

"Do you?"  

He could tell by the look on her face that she was not going to abandon this line of inquiry, no matter how strenuously he objected.  "No," he admitted sullenly.  

"I wish she were here right now, I really do," she said tenderly.  "I know it's been over a month since you've seen her, and your last leave was so short I'm sure you didn't get all the time together that you needed.  I know you probably…"  

"Mom, seriously!" he interrupted frantically.  "Yeah, I wish she were here too, okay?"

"Sooner or later you're going to have to get used to talking about her with me, Bryon," said Padmé sternly, squeezing his hand to emphasize the point.  "I know you probably didn't have as much time alone together as you wanted," she began again, "even with the time away on Naboo.  I promise, the next time you're both here we'll be sure to give you all the privacy you want, even if we don't get to see you at all.  I promise."  

Bryon was certain every blood vessel in his face had exploded from overload.  "Um… yeah… okay…" he sputtered pitifully.  "That's good… yeah… Thanks.  I mean, thank you."

"You're welcome," she smiled warmly.  Then she scooted a little closer.  She released one hand and wrapped an arm around him; she barely was able to reach his opposite shoulder.  "So tell me," she said mischievously, "have you two talked any more about planning a wedding since you got back?" 

Bryon's heart sank and his stomach lurched.  He had feared a moment like this ever since the impulsive, spontaneous secret ceremony on Naboo over a month ago.  Quickly his mind raced through all the options for evasion he had been able to devise, considered her exact words, and found the perfect fit: the literal truth.  "No, we haven't." 

"Okay," his mother subsided.  "Just keep me informed when you do."  

"Of course," he nodded decisively, happy he could rely on the literal truth again.  "You'll be the first to know."   

---

Luke drew his cloak more tightly around his body as he strode through the dark nighttime streets of Mos Espa, the brisk desert wind whipping specks of sand into his face.  In the dim light of the stars his indigo robes and cloak were indistinguishable from black, and those few other individuals outdoors at this hour skittered nervously in the opposite direction from the grim figure.  He barely could see two or three paces in front of him as he walked, but his extended awareness in the Force took care of that, guiding him unfailingly toward the meeting place.  

This was the third day of their investigation on Tatooine.  After reviewing the information and analysis provided by the Jedi Temple's Operations Office, they had determined that the two missing Padawans must have discovered something of interest here in Mos Espa.  Although prior reports each had originated from a different location on the planet, the last three before the disappearance all had come from here.  Now he and Mara were trying to determine exactly what the vanished apprentices had found, hoping that would lead them to the pair.  

Luke arrived at the base of the tall stone wall that surrounded the city and found the set of steps that led to the walkway atop it.  He bounded up them three at a time and reached the narrow path along the parapets.  Muffling the sounds of his boots with the Force, he walked quickly to a spot a few hundred yards down the wall.  Then he tugged his hood down more fully over his face, braced his elbows on the small ledge between two parapets, and waited for her.  

Mara.

He wasn't sure how to feel about her anymore.  His animosity was gone and had been for some time.  What remained in their relationship was a strange combination of fierce rivalry and intense friendship.  Half the time it really seemed to him as though he was merely a competitor to her, serving as little more than the measure she used to test and evaluate her own skills.  The other half the time he had the distinct impression she was restraining herself from dragging him off someplace for hours of lurid passion.  Her recent behavior was utterly confounding and completely unpredictable.  There was only one thing he had decided for certain.  

She was falling in love with him.  

Instead of making him happy, however, this information troubled him greatly.  The problem, of course, was that he was not sure he felt the same way.  Certainly she was a close friend, and he at least loved her the same way he loved Gars Von Krindlemeier and Ralli Gialla and the others in their circle at the Temple.  What he was not at all sure about was whether he loved her more than that.  Romantically.  

Luke inhaled a deep breath and blew it out very slowly.  

Primary is his mind was the knowledge that he soon would be granted the opportunity to stand for the Trials, and if he succeeded he finally would end his apprenticeship to Master Obi-Wan and be given the full responsibilities and challenges of a Jedi Knight.  Although he believed he was nearly ready for that test, he also knew there were aspects of his skills and training that were not yet sufficient – most significantly, his continuing difficulty with controlling his impatience and frustration when things did not go his way.  Adding a fervent emotional attachment to that instability might not be a wise move.  On the other hand, if the attachment soothed his spirit the way his mother's love calmed his father, then it would be very valuable indeed.  The difficulty was that he had no way of knowing what effect the attachment might have until it would be too late. 

He took solace in the fact that if he did love Mara, he would be permitted to do so openly.  Many things had changed in the Jedi Order over the twenty years his father had served on the Council, and one of them was the rule in the Jedi Code relating to personal attachments.  Begrudging acceptance, perhaps, best described the Council's new attitude.  Attachments remained strongly discouraged for the same reasons they had been forbidden for so many generations: they too often led to partiality, distraction, dereliction of duty, irrationality, or worst of all impassioned misuse of the Force.  Yet the Masters had come to understand Anakin's attachment to Padmé as the very root of his serenity and inner peace – a view that only a half-century earlier would have been profoundly heretical.  Although very few even desired to do so, any Padawan or Knight now could petition for the Council's acquiescence in an attachment, after which he or she would be counseled, tested, and evaluated at length in an effort to ensure that the attachment would be consistent with and not destructive of that particular individual's role as a Jedi.  

Luke was not concerned about that hurdle.  The Skywalkers were a profoundly passionate family, and intense personal attachments permeated their lives.  His father and mother shared the deepest bond of all, of course, but Anakin's friendship with Obi-Wan and Padmé's with Sabé were nearly as powerful.  Bryon and Sarré had a heartfelt connection almost as great as his parents', one that blazed into the Force with a blinding light.  Most of Danaé's difficulties in the past year were due to her searing grief at the loss of Master Trill, whom she had revered like a beloved uncle.  When Leia fell in love, she immersed herself entirely in its warmth – and now, against what Luke thought was her better judgment, she apparently was considering the possibility she might have such feelings for Captain Solo.  And Luke himself always had known that his life would not be complete without a partner who complemented his soul the same way his parents did each other.  

What he still could not decide was whether Mara was the woman with whom he was destined to spend the rest of his life.  Perhaps she was; perhaps she wasn't.  He didn't know, and furthermore he didn't know how he was going to figure it out.  Leia had told him many times during their innumerable late-night conversations that love cannot be reasoned with or rationalized or explained logically.  She also had driven home insistently another point: that when love reveals itself, it must be seized and protected with one's very being.  In other words, he must trust his feelings.  And that was something he did constantly as a Jedi.  

So Luke knew he had to find some way of exploring his feelings for Mara without misleading her about his intentions.  And despite all his adventures and misadventures with girls in the Temple over the last few years, that was something he never had been called upon to do. 

His sobering contemplations were broken when Mara's Force presence burst into his perceptions.  He turned to his left to see her black-cloaked form approaching along the wall's narrow path.  Quickly she reached his side and leaned on her elbows on the ledge next to him.  

"You're late," he hissed as he drew down the hood of his cloak.  

"For a reason," she snapped in a hushed voice while she did the same.  "I think it's a little more important that I learn as much as I can than that I'm prompt to meet you." 

"Oh, I'm impressed," he said sarcastically.  He kept his voice quiet too; even though there was no one anywhere near them, it still seemed necessary.  "What's the big news?" 

"The shipments the Hutts smuggled between the Outer Rim and Vyhrrag space?  Only one of them was weapons," she whispered.  "The rest were spice.  I've confirmed it twice." 

Luke digested the information silently at first.  "I wasn't been able to find any evidence of additional arms smuggling either," he nodded after a pause.  He pushed off from the wall and turned around to face the scattered lights of the city, bracing his lower back against the wall instead; she matched his pose a moment later.  "I'm beginning to think there was only one arms shipment, and that it was for the Hutts' own agents inside Vyhrragian territory, not for the Vyhrragians at all."  

"I agree," she nodded.  "In which case the Hutts aren't cooperating with Argis' war effort.  They're simply profiting from the situation by selling lots of spice on troubled planets.  And they sent a single shipment of weapons to protect their investments and infrastructure." 

"Yes.  Which is far better for the Republic, if it's true."  He brushed his hair away from his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.  

"Indeed."  She turned slightly to the side to face him more.  "So what do we do now?"  

"Well, the arms shipment originated from Mos Eisley," he pondered aloud.  "If our predecessors didn't figure out what we just did and still were trying to follow the trail of the weapons, that's where they'd have gone."

Mara reached up her hands and ran her fingers through her loose red-gold hair a few times.  "That sounds reasonable," she agreed.  "Nothing else really seems to fit what we've found here."  

Luke smiled.  She didn't seem to realize she had picked up one of her Master's mannerisms.  "We can get transportation in the morning."  

"Sounds like a plan," she chuckled.  She pushed off from the wall and began to walk back in the direction from which she had come.  

He took a few quick steps and caught up with her.  "Mara, wait."  

She stopped and turned her head around to look at him but didn't say anything.  

He brushed the hair away from his eyes again, then reached out a hand and rested it against her lower back through her black cloak.  For a moment they held each other's eyes intensely.  "It'll be safer if I walk with you."  

"I can take care of myself," she snarled.  "I don't need you to protect me." 

Luke's heart sank.  He hadn't meant it that way at all.  Over these last three days they had seen each other only for a handful of minutes in four earlier meetings like this one, when they had shared their findings and coordinated further inquiries.  Now his attempt to offer her a pretext to spend more time together had backfired in his face.  He tried desperately to recover.  "I only thought maybe you might want me to come with you and…"  

"Forget it," she spat, interrupting him.  "I'd just as soon kiss a Wookiee!"  

"I think Leia can arrange that for you," he shot back, more angry with himself than her.  

After nothing but an incoherent mutter under her breath Mara stalked away and headed off toward the rooming house on the opposite side of town from which she had based her part of their investigation.  

Luke leaned his elbows on the wall again and looked out over the desert.  The vast, barren expanse of sand stretched to the horizon, an immense black pool beneath the twinkling stars.  Before he returned to his own spartan lodging near the spaceport, he wanted to think about what just had occurred between them.  The sparkle in her spirit when he had asked her to wait.  The way she had pressed into his hand with her body.  The burst of disappointment and shock in the Force at the next words he had spoken.  The rapid deterioration in the conversation from his misguided attempt to be circumspect rather than candid.

And the pain in his heart, standing here without her.  

---****

Yoda hobbled the last few steps to the open entrance of the tarp tent Danaé had erected on the other side of the clearing in the swamp from his small mud hut.  Peering sneakily around the edge of the durafabric, he saw the tall girl sitting on one of the metal crates she had carried the three kilometers here from her starfighter.  Her shoulders were slumped and she held her head in her hands.  

"Tired you are," he commented as he stepped inside her makeshift abode, using his gimer stick for balance.  Artoo blooped a happy greeting from his spot at the foot of the cot.  

She lifted her face and smiled weakly.  "Yes.  The regimens.  They're so easy at the Temple.  Here, they're completely exhausting." 

"Not so much the heat it is," Yoda winked, "as the humidity, hmm?"  

"I drink more water in one day here than I do in a week at the Temple, and I sweat it all away!"  

"Used to it you will become.  Sooner or later."

"Thanks for the reassurance," Danaé chuckled.  She stood up and stretched her arms high over her head.  Since her arrival she had taken to wearing nothing more than form-fitting gray training attire, which she had trimmed even further for the severe conditions; the sleeveless top now exposed her full midriff and the britches revealed nearly her entire thighs.  

As he stopped next to the astromech, Yoda chuckled to himself at how rapidly the girl had abandoned any sense of modesty around him.  It was both practical and wise – a rare combination indeed for a young Skywalker.  "Hungry are you?"  

"A little," she said.  She walked over to a different crate, opened its top, and retrieved and unwrapped a vacuum-sealed nutrition bar.  Sitting down on the first crate again, she took a bite.  

Yoda raised his free hand and yanked the food from her grasp with the Force.  

"Hey!" she cried.  "I was eating that."

It was too late.  Yoda swallowed the large morsel he had bitten off the bar.  "How you get so big, eating food of this kind?"  

"It's not so bad."

"Such lies you tell," Yoda chided.  "Terrible this food is.  Truly terrible."  Just as he lifted his hand to take another bite, Artoo extended his small repair arm and grabbed the remainder of the bar.  "Stop!  Stop!" Yoda exclaimed, his already large eyes bugging even further on his face.  

The droid honked indignantly and engaged the ancient green alien in a contest of physical strength for control.  

"Release it you must," Yoda demanded as he began to bang his gimer stick on the astromech's metal dome.  "Mine it is.  Mine!"  

"Artoo, let him have it," the girl sighed resignedly.  The droid beeped and squawked indignantly.  "I don't care if it was rude of him to take it from me," she shook her head.  "Let him have it."

"Yes, yes," Yoda persisted, resting his stick back on the ground.  "Listen to her you must."

Artoo beeped loudly in frustration.  "Maybe so," Danaé nodded.  "But a droid doesn't use the Force to scramble your circuits beyond repair when he loses."  Artoo squealed an anxious concession.  "Yes, that's right," she said.  "Let the Jedi Master win."  

With a final defeated bloop the astromech released his grip on the nutrition bar.  "Victorious I am," Yoda grinned, wiggling his pointy ears happily.  "As it should be."  With two quick bites he finished off the treat.  "Some real food you need," he announced to Danaé.  "Back to my home you will come.  Eat well we will."  

With a sigh of great reluctance the girl rose from the crate to follow him.  

A few minutes later Yoda added the last ladleful of gruel to a bowl, then passed it to the girl.  She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her shoulders hunched to keep her head from touching the ceiling.  "Enjoy this you will, I think."

"Thank you," she smiled politely.  

Yoda stretched his arm to place his bowl on the small table that barely reached above the girl's knees.  Removing his gimer stick from its resting place against the wall, he hobbled over to his chair opposite her at the table.  After one spoonful of food he gazed up to see a sad look in her intense blue eyes.  "Hmm.  That face you make.  Look I so old to young eyes?"

"No.  Of course not," she said unconvincingly.  

Yoda smiled.  By the time she had become a youngling in the Order just after her first birthday, he had been retired for several years from the Council and from active participation in tutoring the young adepts.  While he never had trained her, they were well acquainted from his many visits to her parents during her childhood.  And he knew without a doubt that he looked far frailer than the last time she had seen him.  "I do!  Yes, I do!  Sick I have become.  Old and weak." 

She sat silently, contemplating his words.  

Yoda chuckled playfully.  "When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not, hmm?"

That brought a smile to her face.  "I suppose that's true," she conceded with a light laugh.  

"Good this is, yes?" Yoda asked.  "Better than your bland products of machines is it not?"  

"Um… yes," she said, refusing to meet his gaze.  "It's… very tasty."  

Yoda decided to let the polite lie pass without a response.  "Sleep much tonight you should," he advised.  "Tomorrow into the swamps we will go.  Running, jumping, climbing.  Help you it will."

"I thought we were going to focus on my feelings?" the girl asked with a confused look on her face.

"Always that mistake, do the young make," Yoda explained patiently.  "Clear your spirit you must, yes.  But this exercise, free your body it will.  Ease your meditation.  Center your spirit in the Force it can." 

Danaé nodded firmly.  "I trust you, Master Yoda."

"Good," Yoda nodded approvingly.  "Very good.  Help you much I can, while that attitude you keep."

"May I ask you a question?" she queried reluctantly after a moment.  

"Good things questions are.  Ask them always you may.  Answer them always I may not."

"Fair enough," she chuckled.  "Master Yoda, you'll let me eat my own food most of the time, right?"  

Yoda leaned back in his chair and laughed more heartily than he had in many, many years.  "Yes, my child.  That wish happy I am to grant."

---

Although the circumstances that had necessitated the creation of Refugee Camp Two on the Mid Rim planet of Pharenniol were indisputably tragic, the camp itself was remarkably tolerable.  Built by the local planetary government from funds in its own treasury and a small supplemental grant from the Galactic Senate, it consisted primarily of thousands of small durafabric tents.  Families or couples could share a tent if they desired, but for now the camp was not overcrowded and many individuals had a tent to themselves.  There were numerous stations with refreshers, shower stalls, and running – albeit cold – water, so sanitation and hygiene were well within acceptable bounds.  In addition to a sizeable reserve the supplies of food were replenished weekly, so none of the refugees feared a rationing crisis like those had been reported on other worlds. 

Han knew he had a broad grin on his face as he walked along the grimy dirt path that wound through camp.  He had expected this mission to be painfully boring, redeemable only because he would get to see Leia again.  To his great surprise it had turned out to be anything but dull. 

Mostly it was the mood of the camp.  It did not appear to be truly dangerous, but the air seemed to crackle with an electricity of anarchy and tension that kept his blood pumping.  Occasional scuffles broke out among various rival groups or species forced into close proximity by the tight conditions, and a handful of troublemakers simply started fights because they could.  Fortunately the camp's security agents enforced a strict policy prohibiting blasters and vibroblades, which made a significant difference for everyone's safety.  

He tugged at the black vest he wore over his plain white shirt as he turned a corner on the path.  Being here reminded him of his youth on Corellia, those raucous years when his independence was at its peak and he answered to no one.  Well, almost no one.  Dewlanna, the Wookiee cook at the orphanage, had been a surrogate mother to him and had given him all the stern lectures he had deserved.  Her supervision had prevented an irreversible decline into a life of serious crime until he had found his passion for swoop bike racing.  The money he had won had been a boon to the orphanage and had made him something of a hero to the other boys and girls.  One amazing day an instructor from the Academy had happened to witness one of his victories and had been suitably impressed.  After successfully deceiving the authorities about his age Han had enrolled in the Republic's premier flight training program before his sixteenth birthday.  Since then he certainly had experienced his share of adventure and excitement in the Navy, but to this day he missed the rebelliousness and freedom of those earlier years.  

In addition to the exhilarating atmosphere in the camp, Han had found that the mission itself actually was interesting.  In the course of the three days they had spent here, they had examined not only the facilities and conditions in the camp, but also more subtle factors like the resources available for parents with infants and the efforts being made to prevent confrontations from arising in the first place.  Han had enjoyed greatly playing spy – mingling in the crowds, learning what he could about how the refugees were being treated, and observing how they interacted with each other.  Dressed as he was, he looked every bit the exhausted, hard-working spacer and nothing like a highly decorated Navy officer.  He liked that a lot.  

And each evening when Leia and Sarré spent hours drafting brief reports of their findings, the fact that most of it was favorable lightened everyone's mood.  

Han slowed his pace a bit as he approached the three tents their group had been assigned.  He, Chewie, and Lando did not trust the sparse security at the expansive grassy meadow that passed for a spaceport for the camp.  For that reason two of them had slept aboard the freighter each night.  Lando had taken the first two nights in the camp, and tonight was Han's turn.  

He had thought he would be looking forward to it, but instead he was filled with reluctance.  Since their kiss on the _Falcon_ a few hours before they arrived at Pharenniol, Leia had been avoiding him – or at least it seemed like that to him.  She rarely looked him in the eyes.  She avoided his touch, and sometimes she flinched when they inadvertently brushed against each other.  She often took Sarré – or even the truly obnoxious protocol droid – with her on her explorations of the camp but never asked him to come along.  If she preferred Goldenrod's companionship to his, he was in big trouble.  And she had said nothing at all when he had announced he would stay on the _Falcon_ instead of the camp the first two nights.  

Han stopped, tucked his thumbs in his belt, and looked toward the setting sun on the distant horizon.  In the three months he had worked with Leia for the Navy Oversight subcommittee at the Senate, he had seen first-hand that she was headstrong and decisive.  Not once had he seen her flustered or confused.  On top of that she was almost royalty, the fabulously wealthy daughter of two of the most powerful people in the galaxy.  By contrast, he was nothing more than a simple military officer whose principal financial asset was a one-third interest in a hunk of junk.  

What could a girl like her possibly see in a guy like him?  He knew the answer, as much as he didn't want to think it. 

Nothing. 

So he was beginning to think she regretted kissing him.  Maybe she even regretted taking this mission with him.  He hoped it wasn't true.  In fact, he was pretty confident it wasn't true.  But he couldn't think of anything else that really made sense.  

With a deep sigh he started walking again and soon reached the trio of tents facing a small campfire.  Leia and Sarré were seated on metal crates, talking.  Han walked up to them and stood in front of the vacant crate to Leia's left.  "Mind if I sit?"  

"Be my guest," Leia said distractedly, waving her hand at the available seat.  

"Thanks," he said simply.  He sat down, clasped his hands between his knees, and said nothing more.  Leia and Sarré continued an animated conversation about something in their report.  They made no effort to include him, so he tuned them out and stared into the fire.  

He had no idea how much time had passed when his reverie was broken by Leia's small hand on his shoulder.  "Han?"

"Huh?"  He was completely startled.  With a quick glance to the side he realized Sarré had gone into her tent and the two of them were alone.  "Sorry, um…  I wasn't listening and…  I was just thinking." 

"I didn't realize you did that."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I do."

"Well, you learn something new every day."

"It's shocking, I know," Han chuckled as he looked up to see a broad grin on her face.  Now that night had fallen and only the orange flickering light of the campfire illuminated her face, the grin looked, well, devilish.  He gazed deeply into her brown eyes and made his decision.  _Maybe you're right, Princess.  And I haven't learned my something for today yet_.  Before she could say anything or even react to his movements, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

Firmly.  

Aggressively.  

Almost angrily.  

She kissed him back with equal fervor until she ran out of air and pulled back.  "What was _that_?"

"You've been avoiding me since we got here so I figured…"

"I have not!" she interrupted defiantly.  

"Yes, you have, Princess."

She paused a moment.  "You were taking quite a chance that I'd be angry, then, weren't you?"

"I suppose.  But I was pretty sure you wouldn't be."  

"You guessed right this time, flyboy."

"Yeah, like I hadn't already figured that out for myself."  He followed suit when she rose to her feet.  

With a wink she strode the five paces to the flap of her tent and lifted it open.  Then she turned over her shoulder just before she disappeared inside.  "Someday you're going to be wrong, and I just hope I'm there to see it."

Han sat down again and stared into the fire.  

---

The dark nighttime sky sparkled with stars and the artificial streetlights atop the ornate lampposts had activated to provide dim illumination as the two Jedi Masters walked swiftly toward their destination.  They were only a few long city blocks away from the Cathedral of the Liberation, and they hoped to be able to put in the first few hours of their investigation before retiring for the night.  

Suddenly Anakin stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes.  Obi-Wan paused two paces ahead, dropping his mind more fully into the Force as well.  After a moment Anakin opened his eyes again and glanced sharply at his friend.  

"I sense it too," Obi-Wan said quietly.  Quickly he reached out a hand and held Anakin's arm.  "Be calm, Anakin," he said simply.  

"I will," Anakin nodded.  With his erstwhile Master at his side Anakin broke into a dead run toward a nearby alley.  Although their ears had heard nothing, a young girl's sharp cry of fear projecting into the Force had pierced their perceptions as clearly as any audible scream would have.  

And it was not just any kind of fear.  As a child growing up in the slave quarters of Mos Espa, before he had understood his strength in the Force or what his perceptions were telling him, Anakin had felt this terrible sensation many more times than he cared to contemplate.  The slave masters had been brutal and cruel, and part of their callousness included forcing themselves on the female slaves whose lives they controlled.  Once, just after his ninth birthday, it had happened to his mother.  Right in front of him.  He had tried to protect her, but the enormous man had shoved him away with such strength that he had been knocked unconscious.  Only his mother's unrelenting insistence that he not seek revenge had prevented him from using the weapon he later had built from spare parts to kill the man.  And he knew now that had he understood then how to use the Force, he would have killed with its power that night.  

Anakin cleared his mind and calmed his thoughts as he raced the final few strides to the mouth of the alley.  He no longer needed Obi-Wan's admonition, of course, but he had appreciated it nevertheless.  He knew it was impossible to hear too often a reminder of the constant requirement that a Jedi act without anger or passion.  Just before he arrived at the scene, he heard and sensed Obi-Wan burst away in a different direction.  As he turned the corner Anakin brushed the hood of his cloak off his head and shouted authoritatively, "Leave her alone!" 

His eyes confirmed what the Force already had shown him.  A tall, grim man towered over a cowering girl, trapping her against the wall of the alley.  After a long moment the hoodlum finally stepped away from the girl and removed the barrel of his blaster pistol from her head.  He pointed the weapon at the intruder.  "Get outta here," the man snarled.  "This is none of your business."

"I am making it my business," Anakin growled.  He brushed out the sides of his brown cloak and propped his hands on his hips.  

"What, you think you're some kinda Jedi?" the thug snickered.  

"If you believe I'm not, you're welcome to take your chances."  Anakin's hands did not move.  

"I said get outta here," the hooligan spat again.  When he received no response, he squeezed the trigger.  

In a flash Anakin's left hand snapped the lightsaber handle from that hip, ignited the ultraviolet blade, and deflected all three incoming bolts into the stone wall of the adjacent building.  The invisible weapon whirred and hummed in the air.  Seeing the look of terror on the man's face, Anakin laughed.  "There's something you ought to know," he smiled deviously, taking two deliberate, aggressive strides forward.  "I'm not left-handed."  

Unsure what he had seen, and disbelieving there really was a lightsaber there, the thug fired twice more.  The shots flew straight back at him, barely missing his head.  He turned around and fled.  

The hoodlum only made it a few strides, however, before a foot appeared from nowhere and tripped him.  Instantly Obi-Wan sprang on the prone man, pinning him to the grimy pavement with a knee and snapping a pair of stuncuffs to his wrists.  After keeping the man's face in the dirt for a few seconds, Obi-Wan rose to his feet.  "Get up," the completely composed Jedi Master said.  "We'll go wait in the street until the constable arrives."  Without a word or a struggle the ruffian stood up and stumbled his way out of the alley with the Jedi Master one step behind him.  Apparently this was not his first experience with stuncuffs. 

In the meantime Anakin had rushed to the girl's side where she was slumped against the alley wall.  She was young, he thought, about Nalé Bellion's age.  Her simple tunic was dirtied from her effort to escape her attacker, her short auburn hair was in disarray, and tears streaked her cheeks.  "It's okay," he soothed as well as he could, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  "You're safe now." 

The girl's body shook as she tried to control her sobbing.  "Thank you," she managed to rasp.  

"You're welcome.  My name is Anakin."  He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and sent several short bursts of energy in the Force to calm her spirit.  "What's yours?" 

"I'm Lillaé," she whispered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and trying her best to smile.  

"You shouldn't be here this late by yourself, Lillaé," Anakin said softly.  "Where does your family live?  I know this city very well, so my friend Obi-Wan and I will be able to walk you home from here."  

The girl started to cry again.  "I don't have any family," she sniffled.  "Not here.  Not anymore."  

Anakin paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.  "I think there is a lot you need to tell me," he said gently after a moment.  "First, tell me what happened to your family."  

Lillaé leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder, unaware that it was his robust Force presence that made her trust her rescuer unquestioningly.  "My father…  he…"  She took a deep breath and forced the words from her mouth.  "My father got addicted to spice.  Then he started…   he started gambling to pay for it…  and he lost everything.  When he didn't pay his debts…  they…  they came and… they killed him.  Him and my mom.  I found them when I got home from school."  

"I'm very sorry," Anakin whispered, squeezing her firmly again.  "How long ago did this happen?  Do you need a place to stay?  A good friend of my wife's runs an orphanage, right here in Theed."  Two decades ago Padmé's former handmaiden Saché had taken in the orphaned Jenny Antilles for a year before she had moved in with Anakin and Padmé to help with the newborn twins.  After that experience Saché had dedicated her career to helping children and young adults in similarly tragic circumstances.  

"It only happened last week," Lillaé explained.  "And I know the place you're talking about.  It's nice.  I've stayed there the whole time."  She choked down a sob and continued.  "I have an uncle and aunt who live on Corellia.  They will take me in.  All I need to do is get the money for the transit."  She looked up, predicting Anakin's confusion about why her relatives wouldn't have paid the fare for her.  "I lied to them," she said simply.  "It's my father's brother.  I couldn't tell him what my father did.  I told them it was a speeder accident."  She took another deep breath.  "One of the women from the orphanage helped me sell everything in our house.  The few things I kept, clothes and stuff, are in a locker at the spaceport.  There was no money left, and my father already had signed the house away to a bank or something.  I thought what we got from the sales would be enough for the transit, but it wasn't.  I needed another hundred credits."  

Anakin understood immediately.  "And you thought you could earn the rest.  Out here in the streets." 

"It was stupid," Lillaé nodded weakly.  "I thought I could.  But…  I just…  I just couldn't go through with it.  I told him I was sorry.  But he got really angry and…"  

"It's not your fault," Anakin interrupted tenderly.  "He had no right to touch you, once you told him not to.  But you were lucky, Lillaé.  You were lucky Obi-Wan and I were here."  

"I know," she whispered through new tears.  "I'm sorry."  

"The Force was with you tonight," he smiled.  Then he pulled his arm away and leaned back to look at her more closely.  "Lillaé, you're telling me the truth, right?  All of what you said?"  

"Yes," she nodded insistently.  "I'm not lying.  I wish I was, but I'm not."

The Force confirmed what Anakin already knew.  He rose to his feet and offered his hand to her, which she took and pulled herself to her feet too.  "How well do you know your uncle?  Is he a good man?  You trust him?"

"Oh, yes," Lillaé smiled.  "He and his wife lived here on Naboo until two years ago, with my two little cousins.  I know them very well.  They'll take very good care of me."

Anakin nodded decisively.  He reached into a small pouch on his utility belt and removed a data chip and a small chip reader.  After a quick tap on the reader he offered the chip to the girl.  "Here.  Take this.  It will cover the transit to Corellia, and a little more.  If you promise me two things, you may have it."  He paused, meeting her expectant gaze.  "First, you will use this to go to your uncle's, and give the rest to him when you arrive.  Second, you will tell him the truth about what happened.  He deserves to know, especially if he's going to help you grieve."  

Lillaé did not take the chip from his hand.  Instead she looked closely into his eyes.  "What do I owe you?  If you want…"  Her eyes looked in the general direction of his belt, and her hands fidgeted at her own.  "I mean, you seem a lot nicer than he was and I probably…"

"No," Anakin insisted firmly as soon as he realized what she was suggesting.  "You don't owe me anything.  And certainly not that."  

She seemed dumbfounded by the unexpected generosity.  "Why, then?  Why would…  would you help me?"  

Anakin chuckled lightly.  "Let's just say I'm repaying an old debt."  He paused.  "And because I can." 

Her consternation remained apparent on her face.  After a moment, however, a look of realization gradually dawned in her eyes.  "Wait…  You said…  You…  And Obi-Wan…  And the blaster…"  She stared at him in a state of total shock.  "Are you Anakin _Skywalker_?"

"Yes," he nodded simply.  

Lillaé swallowed hard, reached out tentatively, and took the data chip from his outstretched hand.  "I promise," she whispered.  "I won't let you down."  

Anakin smiled and waved her toward the street.  The girl willing followed him out of the alley, where a trio of constables already had loaded the hoodlum into a prisoner's cage on the rear of their speeder.  With his arm around her shoulder they approached Obi-Wan and the sergeant, who were huddled in a conversation.  "This is Lillaé," he explained.  "She needs a ride to the spaceport.  Her family on Corellia is expecting her on the next transport, so we must hurry."

"We can do that," the sergeant said gruffly.  "But first we'll need to go to the station and take her statement before we can even think about…"  

Anakin sighed deeply.  He waved his hand through the air.  "You don't need her statement."

"We don't need her statement."

"You'll take her to the spaceport right away."

"We'll take her to the spaceport right away."  

"Very well, Sergeant.  You'd best be going now."  Anakin smiled when the man nodded and walked away to give the instructions to his subordinates.  Then he turned around to see Lillaé staring at him in confusion, clearly disbelieving what she just had witnessed.  With only a mischievous wink he pulled her into a gentle embrace.  "Go," he whispered in her ear.  "Trust me."

She squeezed him very tightly and stretched up to kiss his cheek.  "Thank you, Master Skywalker," she said quietly.  "I will never forget this."  Then she released him and climbed into the police speeder.  

After the vehicle disappeared down the quiet nighttime street, Obi-Wan looked at Anakin with raised eyebrows.  "I trust you had a good reason for that?"

"I did."  

Obi-Wan accepted the assertion with a simple nod.  He had complete faith in his old friend's judgment.  

"I also made a donation of four thousand credits on the Order's behalf," Anakin chuckled.  He ran his fingers twice through his short gray hair and sighed.  "I know this is not why the Force drew us to Naboo, Obi-Wan," Anakin said softly while a brisk wind whipped at their cloaks.  "But I am very glad we were here, in this place, at this time.  We prevented an awful situation from becoming much, much worse." 

"For that we can be thankful," Obi-Wan agreed.  

Then the two Jedi Masters drew up the hoods of their cloaks over their heads, pulled the heavy fabric over their tan robes to ward off the chill, and headed down the street toward the Cathedral of the Liberation.  


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

Underneath the enormous tent that had been erected to serve as a makeshift cafeteria, hundreds of the refugee camp's residents filled the chairs around the modest number of tables; the rest sat on the grass.  Tonight's dinner apparently was a small portion of some kind of meat and a large portion of local vegetables.  Leia took a tray from the pile, added a plate, and moved toward the serving line.  

She hadn't eaten lunch today, so when the serving droid slopped a ladleful of vegetables on her plate she smiled warmly and used her most polite voice.  "May I have a little more, please?"  

Behind her shoulder she heard a pleased chuckle.  "Sure you need it, Princess?"

While the droid obliged without comment, she turned around and glared at Han.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, cool it there, sweetheart," he laughed defensively.  "I was only joking."

"What?  Are you implying I need to lose some weight?"

"No, that's not what I…"

"Or you think I eat too much, is that it?"  

"Compared to Chewie, no." 

Leia nearly hurled the contents of her tray into his face, but she restrained herself at the last moment – that would only get her azure flight suit dirty too, and she didn't want to have to clean it yet.  Instead she scowled and spoke in a sharp, hushed voice.  "Why you… stuck up… half-witted… scruffy-looking… nerf-herder!"

Han only grinned.  "Nerf-herder?  That's low, Your Worship, even for you."

"You are utterly insufferable!"  She couldn't stand to look at him for even one more second, so she spun away and charged into the packed seating area.  As luck would have it, a few yards away a trio of Ithorians were standing up from their seats at a table.  

Leia lunged ahead and claimed the chairs.  While she began to pick at the vegetables with her fork, she scanned the entrance and the serving line.  Sarré and Chewie were on their way, but she didn't see them yet.  Lando had begged off dinner tonight, preferring to make repairs on the _Falcon_ and eat packaged rations instead; Threepio also had returned to the freighter to recharge his fuel cell.  And she noticed that Han wisely had chosen to sit on the grass a notable distance away.  

She was about halfway through her meal when she felt a tapping on her shoulder.  "What?" she growled.  

The voice that responded was deep and threatening.  "Hey, pretty girl, how about I sit with you?" 

Leia looked up to see tall, burly man standing over her.  He had short, slicked-back black hair and a long, scraggly scar running along his left cheek that ended at an empty eye socket.  "No, thank you," she said brusquely.  "I'm not interested."  

One-Eye reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.  The grip was painful.  "Aw, now why would you say that?  I'm a very nice guy."

"Please go away," she said firmly.  She reached up to push his hand off, but he only squeezed harder.  

"Come on, pretty girl, give me a chance."  A sharp pain shot down her arm.  

"Leave her alone!" demanded Han's voice from behind One-Eye.  

The goon spun to face Han but did not release her shoulder.  "Mind your own business, if you know what's good for you."

"I said, leave the lady alone!"  Han's face had a determined frown, and his fists were clenched.  Unfortunately, Navy officer's attire or black covert operations fatigues would have been far more persuasive than the grimy spacer's vest and shirt he wore.  

"Go away, you worthless scum," One-Eye spat.  

Han didn't wait any longer.  He swung a powerful haymaker that connected with the One-Eye's jaw and sent him sprawling to the ground.  

One-Eye sat there for a moment, staring viciously at Han.  Then he rose to his feet, brushed the dirt off his shirt and the seat of his pants, and took a step forward.  He lifted two fingers to his mouth and blew a high-pitched whistle.  "You're going to regret that, fool."  

At a nearby table ten similarly menacing men jumped from their seats and headed toward the confrontation.  

Han looked at Leia with raised eyebrows.  "You said you wanted to be around when I made a mistake.  Well, this could be it, sweetheart."  

She was scared.  Her heart was pounding.  "I take it back."    

The eleven goons formed a semicircle around them.  One-Eye – he seemed to be the leader – stepped up to Han and slammed a balled fist directly into his stomach.  When Han doubled over in pain, One-Eye punched him on the side of the face.  Then in the stomach again.  Then twice in the ribs.  Then the face again.

Leia was backed against the table.  She couldn't run.  And with these kind of numbers she had no idea how she possibly could help Han either.  

More punches struck Han in the torso until a final uppercut launched him into the air to land on the table with a sickening thud.  Only a soft moan passed his lips as he lay there.  Motionless.  

Leia's legs were shaking beneath her as she turned to face the men surrounding her.  She was more afraid now than she ever had been when she was a prisoner of the Sith.  She had no idea what to do.  She couldn't even scream – she was too paralyzed with fright.  

At that very moment she heard a familiar voice behind her.  "Chewie!  Take the rear!" 

She heard the thump of a boot against the table, then felt the rush of air as Sarré sailed from over her shoulder to land on the ground in front of her in a defensive stance.  "Back down!"

One-Eye laughed at the short blonde girl in an azure flight suit.  "You must be joking, sweet thing.  Now we'll just have our fun with you too."

"One more chance," Sarré snarled.  "Back down."  

Leia knew her handmaiden was well trained in self-defense and highly skilled in martial arts.  She had complete confidence in her.  But she wasn't sure how Sarré planned to defeat this many opponents at the same time.  

One-Eye towered over Sarré.  "That's enough, little girl," he smirked. 

Leia didn't even see the kick, it happened so quickly.  All she saw was One-Eye collapse to the ground, clutching his groin and screaming like a baby.  

Sarré didn't take any chances with the others.  With a leap over the fallen One-Eye, she kicked one of the men squarely in the chest.  Simultaneously Chewie roared an enraged howl from behind the gathered brutes.  Before they could react, he had grabbed a pair of heads in his huge palms and slammed the skulls together.  

When she landed from her flying kick, Sarré snapped her left fist up into the face of another goon and on the recoil slammed her elbow into chest of the man next to him.  A backward kick hit the chin of a ruffian behind her before she spun around to smash the same man in the nose with her right elbow and punch the adjacent brute in the abdomen with the fist.  

A quick pound of a fist to the top of his head had knocked unconscious the man to whom Sarré had delivered the leaping kick, so Chewie surged forward and grabbed hold of another.  Another swift blow knocked him out too, and Chewie flung the limp body to the ground and moved on.  Catching a thug by the back of his shirt, he slammed the man's head into his upraised knee and tossed him aside as well.  

Sarré spun to engage the opponents on her left again.  She landed a powerful roundhouse kick with her left foot, then lunged upright to land a vicious right-handed uppercut squarely on the chin of the other goon.  Reversing her momentum again she plowed her elbow into one man's nose for the second time before she leaned back slightly to kick his compatriot full in the face.  Quickly she looked around, confirming the four bodies were lying prone on the grass. 

The last standing brute tried to flee, but Chewie merely grabbed him by the waist, heaved him into the air over his head, and threw him to the ground.  After kicking the man in the ribs for good measure, he rushed toward the table.  

The stunning flurry of blows had ended the melee in a matter of seconds.  It took Leia a moment to collect herself.  "Han!" she gasped, spinning around to check on him.  

Chewie already had pulled him along the table and propped him upright against it.  The Wookiee wroofed an anxious query.  

"I'll… be… okay," Han rasped.  "Nothing's… broken…  I think."  

Leia reached out and rested her fingers gently on his cheek, which already was badly swollen and bruised.  "I'm so sorry," she whispered.  

"Leia, we have to leave now."  Sarré's voice was fierce and insistent.  

Leia turned around to see Sarré standing over One-Eye's body, which was curled into a fetal position and rocking back and forth.  Rarely did her handmaiden adopt the tone of an uncompromising bodyguard with Leia.  Now was one of those times, and Leia knew better than to even try to argue.  "Okay.  What do we do?" 

The uncharacteristic anger in Sarré's lavender eyes startled Leia.  Without breaking their intense gaze, Sarré stomped her booted foot straight down on One-Eye's undefended head.  Then she stepped over his now-unconscious body and took Leia by the arm.  "We go back to our tents.  They won't come after us; you can count on that.  And if camp security shows up, well, we'll show our credentials and invoke consular immunity."  

"Okay," Leia nodded.  "Chewie, can you…"  The Wookiee interrupted her with an affirmative bark.  He already had Han's body tucked into the elbow of his long left arm, supporting his friend's weight but letting him walk.  

Sarré pulled Leia ahead, leading her out of the large dining tent to the camp's dirt pathway.  They walked as quickly as they could toward their tents.  Chewie soon abandoned his first idea and simply picked Han up and carried him effortlessly in both arms.  At that speed they reached their destination in a matter of minutes.  

Chewie gently put Han down on one of the crates by the burnt logs of the campfire.  Han was able to sit up on his own, so Chewie wrawled a quick comment.  

"What'd he say?" asked Sarré bluntly.  

"He'll… stand guard… over there," Han indicated with a tilt of his head.  "Out of sight."  

"That's a good idea," Sarré nodded, her tone still authoritative.  "I'll get the medpac."  

After Sarré disappeared inside her tent, Leia sat down next to Han and brushed her fingers very softly along the dark blue splotches on his face.  She took a deep breath and sighed.  

He groaned in pain.  "What?" 

"You certainly have a way with people."

---

Every single square inch of her skin was drenched in sweat.  

The gray elastic fabric of the training attire clung to her as if adhered by industrial glue.  

Every breath of the hot, dank air of the bog filled her lungs with choking, searing dampness.  

Her long braid of brown hair, flopping erratically behind her, seemed to weigh as much as steel. 

Every step of her running feet, every leap into the air, every vine she climbed made her muscles ache.  

Danaé didn't mind any of it.  

With Yoda strapped to her back in a harness, she moved swiftly and easily through the murky fog that shrouded the swamp.  Her bare feet found logs and rocks, her legs and the Force launched her over standing water, and her arms carried her up and over obstacles when there was not enough room to jump.  

None of it required conscious thought.  The living Force flowed so strongly through the multitude of flora and fauna all around her that her perceptions propelled her along her path as effortlessly as if she was flying.  Never in her life had she felt so full of energy and life.  

When she slid down a vine and burst through a small clearing in the trees, Yoda leaned forward just a bit in the harness and began to ask her questions again.  Hard questions.  

"Who are you?" asked the ancient Master calmly.  

She thought for a moment while her feet sailed across the muck of their own accord.  "I am a Jedi," she finally answered.  

"No," came the stern rejoinder.  "Not what.  Who."

"I am a Skywalker," she said with little confidence after another pause.  

"Yes, yes.  Skywalker.  The Chosen One you are, hmm?"

"No.  My father is the Chosen One."  

"Hmm.  The Senator from Naboo, then?"  

Danaé shook her head.  "No.  My sister is the Senator.  And my mother was."

"Ah, yes.  The great pilot you must be."

"No.  That's my brother.  Well, and my father," she sighed.  She had no idea what he was getting at.  

"None of these you are, hmm?"

"That's right."

"Yet a Skywalker you say you are."  

"No.  I mean, yes.  Yes.  I'm a Skywalker."  Untangling her confused thoughts nearly caused her to slip on a wet log, but she held her balance and sprang ahead.  

"What means this to you, hmm?  Quite unlike the others you are, I think."

"It's not like that," she insisted.  "I have much in common with them too.  I am a Jedi like my father and brother.  I care much for the welfare of others like my mother and sister.  I'm not so different from them."

"But different you are nonetheless."

She thought about it again.  "Yes, I suppose so."  

"Your destiny, different from your father's you think it is, no?"

"Of course.  I'm not the Chosen One."  

"Different from your brother's too, hmm?"

"Yes.  I guess.  I don't know what his destiny is.  How could I?"

"But different from yours you think it is."

"Yes."  She took a deep breath, trying not to let her lack of comprehension interfere with the wonderful way the Force flowed through her body as she glided through the bog.  

"A Skywalker you are.  But your own path you must find," the patient Master declared firmly.  Then he let her dash through the swamp in silence for several minutes.  

To avoid a large boulder she quickly pulled herself up a vine, swung past the rock, and landed on her feet on the other side.  "Who is more powerful," Yoda asked quietly when her long, smooth strides resumed.  "You or Jade?"

"What?"  She pondered the idea.  It never had occurred to her in quite those stark terms before.  "Neither.  Well, both.  I mean, it depends on what you're talking about."

"Neither and both at the same time it cannot be."

"Why not?  Mara is stronger with the lightsaber and energy strikes.  I'm stronger with healing and mind compulsion.  We both have strengths and weaknesses."

"Compare yourself to her as a Jedi do you?"  

Danaé laughed.  "Sometimes."  

"And different you are.  Just like your family."

"Yes."  

Yoda finally returned to his point.  "When you train as a Jedi, whom do you seek to become?"

She shook her head again.  "I'm sorry, Master Yoda.  I don't understand."

"Who are you?" he asked again.  "Whom seek you to become?"

She jogged briskly through the swamp in silence, mulling over the impossible question.  But it was not impossible at all.  "Myself," she finally said authoritatively.  "I'm me.  I seek to become myself."

"Good, good," Yoda exclaimed happily.  "Learned an important lesson you have."

"But what does it _mean_," she asked softly.  "I gave you the right answer, I know.  But I'm not sure I understand its significance as you want me to."

"Honest you are," Yoda chuckled.  "Serve you well that will, hmm?"  The diminutive Master adjusted himself in the harness.  "Differ your talents do, from those around you.  Excel at many things you do.  In some ways more skilled than your father you will be, when his age you reach.  In other ways weaker.  For your mother or your sister or your brothers or Jade the same is true."

Danaé considered the words.  "And also for my destiny," she whispered.  "I must find my own path."

"Yes, young one," Yoda smiled, patting her shoulders encouragingly.  

"Even if it differs greatly from theirs."

"The truth you see now, hmm?"

"Yes," she smiled.  Her feet pounded along the muddy ground, sweeping her past trees and ferns and small lizards hunting insects.  It felt to her as if the Force had begun to flow even more strongly inside her.  As if she were gaining strength as she ran instead of tiring.  The weight in the harness seemed lighter now too.  "Master Yoda?"

"Yes, young Padawan?"

"Has Master Kenobi ever had an… attachment?"  

"Hmm, not sure I am, whether I should answer," Yoda sighed.  "But answer I will."  He paused and took a slow breath.  "Loved Master Jinn like a father Obi-Wan did.  Loves Anakin like a son he does.  But an attachment like your parents share, hmm?  No.  In that way he has not."  Before she could speak, he tapped her shoulder.  "Nor have I, in case you wonder.  My attachment is to the Force.  Nothing more have I ever desired."  

Danaé took a deep breath.  "That is how I feel," she sighed.  "It is how I have always felt.  And I always thought something was wrong with me because of it."  The pace of her running slowed just a bit.  "Until now I didn't realize it isn't a problem.  It's just who I am."  She straightened up and began to run faster again.  "Who I am."  

"Done well you have," Yoda said appreciatively.  "Proud of you I am.  Only one more lesson for today there is."  

"Yes, Master Yoda." 

A few moments later Yoda pointed with his gimer stick.  "Down there.  Then stop we can."

Sliding down a vine, Danaé landed in a small clearing.  She shrugged off the harness and carefully lowered Yoda to the ground.  

Immediately her awareness sharpened and her arms and legs assumed a stance of readiness.  She surged her feelings out into the Force.  Behind her she sensed Yoda walk a few paces and sit down on a tree stump.  

She detected a great disturbance in the Force.  Disease.  Decay.  Death.  Animals skirted this clearing, going out of their way to avoid it.  Even the plants seemed to radiate fear.  Most of all, in the middle of this hot, humid swamp she felt…

Cold.  

Scanning with her eyes, she saw nearby a giant tree.  Sickly.  Rotting.  Nearly lifeless.  Its broad limbs hung limply in the air, nearly devoid of leaves.  At its base the black roots seemed to form an opening.  It looked like the mouth of a cave.  

Danaé spun around and looked at Yoda.  He was gazing up at her contemplatively, his hands clasped one atop the other on his gimer stick, which rested on the ground.  He said nothing.  Yet she knew he perceived the same things she did.  She stared at him and still he sat silently.  

She turned back and focused both her eyes and her concentration on the dark tree.  

Her body was markedly overheated from hours of exertion – but she shivered from the chill.  

"Master Yoda," she gasped, "what is this place?" 

---****

Mara stood in the shadows of the Mos Eisley alley, waiting for Luke to return.  They had arrived the previous day on their hunch that the two missing Padawans had disappeared here while investigating the Hutt Criminal Syndicate's weapons shipment to Vyhrragian-controlled space.  It hadn't taken more than a few credit-laden handshakes to learn the location of the compound in the city center that served as the Hutts' command outpost in the city.  Several more bribes had confirmed that the Hutts were detaining a pair of Jedi, and that the compound was the most likely place they would be held.  Luke was tracking down one final lead before they could be confident about reaching a final conclusion.  

Mara leaned her head out toward the street and gazed across the dusty thoroughfare at the walls of the Hutts' compound fifty meters away.  It was no doubt heavily guarded and quite secure.  But it couldn't be any worse than the Vyhrragian prison on Xixus from which they had rescued Leia just over six months ago.  With a deep sigh, she hoped she didn't have to find out.  

Just then Luke glided into the shadows to join her.  "That was easy," he smiled as he drew down the hood of his swirling indigo cloak.  

She lowered the hood of her black cloak and raised her eyebrows.  "Really?"

"The Hutts ought to hire agents who aren't so weak-minded," he winked.  

She grinned too.  "So what did you find out?"

"Bad news," he frowned.  "He's seen them with his own eyes, so they're definitely in the compound.  The problem is that sometime this afternoon, maybe soon, they're being moved."

"Moved?  Where?"

He brushed his sandy-brown hair out of his eyes.  "They're being taken to the palace.  Jabba the Hutt's palace."

"That doesn't sound good."

"It's not.  No prisoner taken there has ever returned alive."  

Mara furrowed her brow.  "Where is the palace?  Would be able to track them there and maintain surveillance?"  

"I don't think so," he shook his head.  "It's way out in the desert.  It's isolated.  We'd have nowhere to hide and nothing to eat or drink."

"So our only chance is to free them before they're taken there."  

"It seems that way," Luke grimaced.  "But we've been ordered not to.  The rules of engagement were very clear.  Locate, report, and call for backup if necessary.  No confrontations." 

"I remember the orders," she snapped.  "But the orders assume there's time for that.  They can't possibly have intended for us to do nothing in a situation like this."

"Why not?" he asked reluctantly.  "Maybe there's something we don't know.  If we go in and get overwhelmed, we could end up with four prisoners instead of two.  Or four dead Jedi instead of two."  

"You can't be serious!"

"We may not like the orders, Mara, but they're still the orders."

She glared at him.  Hard.  "This is about the Trials, isn't it?"

"Partly," he conceded.  

"You don't want to disobey orders because you're worried it'll be held against you in standing for the Trials."

Luke shot her an angry stare.  "It will be.  Don't kid yourself.  Even if we succeed perfectly, it will be."  

"You're willing to put your Trials ahead of their lives?"  She couldn't imagine that was what he really wanted to do.  "I can't believe you actually feel that way."  

"If it were up to me, no," he said grimly, "I wouldn't.  But it's not my decision.  Orders are orders."

"Forget the orders, Luke!"  She nearly stormed away, but she stopped herself.  She took a deep breath and met his eyes again.  "Let's quit talking around the issue.  We both know who it is in there.  I can sense them in the Force now that we're close enough.  So can you.  Let's get it out in the open."  

"It's Ralli and Gars," he said.  "Our friends, okay?  Two of our best friends in the whole Temple, and that's why they didn't tell us who it was when we got this assignment."

"That's right," she glared.  "Our friends.  He's one of my best sparring partners, and she was…"  She almost couldn't bring herself to say it, but she did.  "And she was your lover.  We have to help them."

"We can't, Mara," he insisted in anguish.  "We don't know all the facts.  We don't know what we're facing in there.  We don't…"

"Oh, give me a break, Luke," she growled.  "This isn't about the facts we don't know.  It isn't about our orders.  It's about you.  You're so concerned about what might happen to _you_ that you're forgetting that our friends are going to be killed.  They're going to be executed, Luke.  The Hutts are going to murder them unless we prevent it."  

"I know that, Mara," he snarled.  "And our Masters probably knew that too when they gave us our orders, but they gave them anyway."  

She couldn't contain her frustration any longer, and she let it boil over in a vicious shout.  "We can't just stand here and let them die!"

He flinched and turned away.  There was a long, painful pause before he turned back to face her again.  "You're right," he sighed.  "You're right."  

"I knew you'd come around!"  She was so delighted at his change of heart that without thinking she reached up, crushed her hands to the sides of his face, and kissed him full on the lips – a quick, firm, satisfying, triumphant, glorious kiss.  

He stood there, looking at her, his hands hanging limply at his sides.  He was completely dumbfounded.  

She smiled.  "Luke?"

He blinked.  Repeatedly.  

She waved a hand past his eyes.  "Hey!  Skywalker!"

He blinked one last time, then spoke.  "Do you have a plan to get them out?"

"Something of one," she said.  "I've observed the compound from the outside, and from some rooftops.  I think I know how to get us into the detention area.  I'm sure we can sense our way around inside.  It'll be fast."  

"It had better be.  There's only two of us."

"We don't have much time," she said impatiently, motioning him toward the bright street.  "Let's go."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Luke sighed.  

"Everything I know I learned from your father," Mara winked.  

He frowned.  "That's what I'm afraid of."  

---

Corporal Kessa Brittin was almost jogging as she rushed along, trying her best to keep pace with her superior's enormous strides.  His heavy blaster rifle clattered against the backplate of his shining black Special Forces battle armor as they hurried down the narrow hallway in the secured recesses of the Galactic Senate building.  The sound reminded her to check the safety on the large black blaster pistol strapped to her hip, which marked a sharp contrast to the rest of her dress-whites uniform.  When she looked up again from confirming the safety was engaged, she had fallen behind him again.  With a quick burst of speed she arrived at his side as they turned the corner.  

Major Bryon Skywalker's deep, rich voice boomed into the dim hallway.  "How long did the lockdown implementation take?" 

Kessa glanced quickly at her datapad, which was receiving a constant stream of incoming data.  "Two minutes, fourteen seconds, sir." 

"Acceptable," the gigantic officer grumbled, "but not excellent.  Remind me to schedule more drills for next week."

"Yes, sir," Kessa nodded, entering the instruction immediately in her notes.  

They almost had reached the command bunker for the west quadrant of the building as he glanced down at her again.  "We are certain it was a false alarm?" 

"Yes, sir."  

"That is a relief."  

Kessa could see in his brown eyes his sincere appreciation that there had been no combat or casualties within the walls of the Senate facility.  On the other hand, his grim frown suggested that the parties responsible for the unnecessary emergency alarms and lockdown were not out of danger.  

The door to the command bunker swished upward and they entered the windowless room to find First Sergeants Krannar and Pryzill standing over a holographic crisis assessment table projecting images of all the corridors and rooms in the west quadrant.  Captain Graff was huddled with a pair of Senate guards at a viewscreen console displaying images from the building's security cameras.  

Major Skywalker joined the battle-armored sergeants at the table.  "Status report."

"The lockdown was implemented within time parameters," explained Krannar.  "The hot zone was contained to a single entrance concourse.  This one – here," he pointed on the multicolored hologram.  

"Three male members of the Kuati delegation were carrying concealed blasters," continued Pryzill.  The Zabrak rubbed his fingers along the short horns on his forehead as he spoke.  "All others in the concourse were cleared within minutes.  The Senator from Kuat claims a misunderstanding and that she did not approve the arms carried by members of her personal staff."  

"Unlikely," Major Skywalker scoffed.  "In another delegation, perhaps, but not Kuat.  No male subordinate would dare take such a step without the Senator's approval.  Their social conventions of female leadership and the primacy of honor would never permit it."  

Will Graff had joined them at the table.  "I agree," the towering Alderaanian said.  "It was not a misunderstanding.  We have confirmed that the men were long-time staffers of the Senator, however.  They were not infiltrators, and it seems unlikely they have betrayed their Senator or planned to assassinate anyone else."

Major Skywalker nodded.  "They sought additional protection for their Senator, and sought it secretly rather than following proper channels for approval of armed bodyguards."  He looked down to Kessa.  "Release the lockdown and authorize the Senate guards to return to normal operations."

"Yes, sir," Kessa nodded, sending the order immediately from her datapad.  

"We will begin our investigation at once," Major Skywalker declared after a short pause.  "Who remains detained?"  

"The Senator has been released," Graff reported, "but we still hold the three staffers and her chief of security.  All four men are in solitary detention cells just down the hall."    

"Very good," Major Skywalker said, finally smiling a little.  "Well done, my friends.  Help the guards resume normal operations, and we will have a debriefing meeting in two hours.  Kessa, stay with me."  

Kessa tucked her datapad under her arm and followed him out into the hallway.  A shiver ran down her spine, and she said a silent prayer that the detainees would be cooperative.  Without needing to be told she knew what information he would want first.  "The security chief is in room twenty-three."   

"Excellent," Major Skywalker replied.  "I will interrogate him myself."

---

A few minutes later the two dark-clad Jedi apprentices strode through the arching entryway to the Hutts' compound into a sandy courtyard a dozen meters square.  The noontime suns beat down on them with a searing heat that seemed as if it would bake them alive.  The air was completely still and silent.  No one was there.  The mere presence of the Syndicate's goons was so intimidating that no one dared venture inside.  They had gone nearly a third of the way across the empty area when a door on the left wall opened and a man with a blaster rifle charged out.  

"Hey!" barked the man angrily.  "Stop right there!"  

Mara smirked to herself as they kept walking.  

"I said stop!"  A single bolt from the blaster rifle slammed into the dirt at their feet and sent showers of sand spraying into the air.  

Mara snapped her lightsaber handle into her palm and continued on ahead.  

From other side doors of the courtyard four more gangsters appeared, along with a complement of about two dozen obsolete battle droids from the old Trade Federation war factories decades ago.  

The hooligan charging from the left gave no more warnings.  "Open fire!"

Mara spun to face him, her violet blade shimmering in front of her to deflect away his incoming blaster bolts.  With ease she sent two bolts right back at him, causing him to stop shooting.  She sprang forward with a Force-powered leap and came down just to the side of him.  An instantaneous arc of her laser sword sliced his rifle in half, and on the follow through her left elbow connected fiercely with his forehead.  As the man slumped to the ground, unconscious, she whirled around to face the other two gangsters approaching her.  

Immersed in the Force, she sensed Luke a few yards away.  He already had dispatched the pair of gangsters on his side by severing the barrels of their blasters and kicking them powerfully in their heads.  She perceived the surge in the Force as he drew upon its energy to blast an invisible wave at the battle droids, smashing most of them into complete dysfunction.  He surged forward against the remaining droids, deflecting away their blaster bolts and chopping them apart with ease.  

Mara's blade snapped away a few more blaster shots from the gangsters as she pondered her strategy.  Then she sensed a trio of battle droids heading toward her from behind and realized she had no more time.  She jumped into the air again straight at the startled gangsters.  Before they could react she began to come down between them, and as she did she kicked her legs out to the sides.  A boot connected with each of their heads with a dull smack, and she landed gracefully in the now empty space between them.  

She ducked to avoid the shots from the battle droids, then stood upright again and flicked her palm outward.  Her invisible strike in the Force smashed the trio of droids coming at her, as well as four more behind them.  Spinning on her heel she faced the remaining droids, and with quick swipes of her lightsaber deflected their blaster fire directly back into them.  

In a matter of seconds she and Luke now stood in the courtyard with five unconscious sentients and piles of wrecked battle droids.  She looked over at him and smiled.  "See?  I told you it would be fast."  

He laughed.  "Did you learn that from my father, too?"

"Learn what?" 

"How to take credit for everything?"

She shot him a falsely stern glare.  "Oh, shut up."

He motioned toward the doors at the far end of the courtyard.  "After you."  

As they ran to the door they deactivated their blades and plunged their minds more deeply into the Force, pulling its energy into their bodies and achieving greater perception of their surroundings.  They also directed its flow between their minds, forming a link between their conscious and subconscious thoughts.  Without speaking they decided that Luke would lock his awareness to Ralli Gialla and Gars Von Krindlemeier and figure out the quickest path to them through the hallways inside the building, and that Mara would focus on the numerous Force presences in the compound and plan their defense against any who opposed them.  

Luke used the Force to disable the locking mechanism on the door, and it slid upward with a hiss.  They rushed inside and turned to the right.  

Mara followed Luke blindly, trusting him to lead the way.  She monitored all the movements in the building.  Although she couldn't hear them, from the emotional surges she detected in the Force she knew alarms had been sounded and the gangsters were aware of intruders to the compound.  

He took them to the left around another corner of the dimly lit hallways, and signaled his intentions about a further path toward their captive friends.  

She determined it wouldn't be a problem and conveyed her agreement with her thoughts.  Then she perceived a single guard heading at them from a side hallway.  They continued to run toward the cellblock without slowing down.  A moment later their path crossed the ruffian's – and Mara smacked him firmly between the eyes with the butt of her lightsaber handle.  

Only a few seconds later they arrived in a dark hallway full of empty cells.  In its middle, though, was the cell containing their friends.  Through Luke's concentration Mara could sense their bright presences in the Force with ease even as she kept her focus on the enemies in the compound.  

Luke's turquoise blade snap-hissed in the gloomy darkness of the cellblock.  With a swift blow he shattered the manual durasteel lock and flung open the solid metal door of the cell.  

The sight inside shocked them.  

Their two friends sat opposite each other on stone benches inside the cell.  Gars had a hugely swollen black eye and his left arm clearly was broken below the elbow.  Usually so elegantly composed, he was hunched over in pain.  Ralli's ordinarily luscious blonde hair was matted and grimy, and she had a nasty gash across the left side of her face that was scabbed and infected.  Worst of all, she was clutching her hands to her abdomen, which was wrapped in layers of dirty bandages soaked through with blood.  

Nonetheless the two prisoners sprang to their feet when Luke and Mara charged into the cell.  "I told him I sensed you," Ralli tried to smile as she grimaced in pain.  She glared at Gars.  "You never believe me."

Gars shrugged, then winced at the sting moving his injured arm had caused.  "Sorry."  

"Let's negotiate this later," Mara laughed.  "We don't have any time.  We have to go.  Now."  

Luke looked quickly at their friends.  "Can you run?  We'll have to run."  

"It'll hurt," Ralli admitted.  "But with the Force as my ally, I can do it."  

Luke nodded.  "Your blades, can you sense them?"  
  


"No," Gars shook his head.  "They were taken and destroyed."

"Okay," Mara said.  "Then stick close to us.  We'll cover you."

Their two friends nodded, and Luke led them to the door.  He met Mara's eyes with an anguished look of great apprehension.

She chuckled weakly.  "I said it would be fast.  I never said it would be easy."

---****

The wavering blue holographic image formed over the large mahogany desk.  "The strike force is in position, General," the hooded woman said.  

"This is excellent news, Lady Delicti," Tarkin smiled.  "We are now ahead of schedule."

"Yes, General," she replied calmly.  "What are your orders?"  

"Proceed immediately."

"Understood, General.  The attack will commence at once."

Tarkin waved his pale, thin fingers over the projector and terminated the transmission.  After a deep breath, he steepled his fingers and looked up at the tall, black-cloaked figure standing a few paces in front of the desk.  "If you have something to say, say it."  

"Master Vengous will be returning shortly from Naboo," stated a grim male voice flatly.  "You should have sought her counsel."  

"Your opinion is noted, Lord Regelous," Tarkin chuckled.  "But your Master has delegated full war-making authority to me.  And I am confident she will concur in any event."  

The Sith Lord nodded.  "Do you think the diversion will work?"  

"Of course it will work," Tarkin smiled.  "The Republic is completely unprepared for this assault.  And the additional time between it and the principal attack with increase the effectiveness of the diversion.  When the full attack comes, we will have seized the element of surprise.  Victory will be swift."  

"I concur," Darth Regelous said firmly.  "And at last the annihilation of the Skywalkers will be achieved." 

---

The noontime sky was bright and cloudless in Aldera, the capital city of Alderaan.  Crowds mingled in the streets and speeders soared through the air.  Birds sang and insects chirped.  The white marble buildings of the government district, built in a classical style reminiscent of Naboo and other artistically renowned worlds, shined in the sunlight with a radiance that seemed to affirm the spirit of the people of this pacifist, unarmed system in the galaxy's Core.  

Suddenly the calm was shattered by a deafening screech.  Those who looked up in time saw massive laser bolts as wide as a landspeeder sailing straight down from the cerulean sky.  In an instant the red bolts slammed into the city, shattering the stone structures and shaking the ground with the violence of a powerful groundquake.  

The orbital bombardment continued without interruption.  Each second dozens of the gigantic spears of light smashed buildings, cratered streets, and pounded the ornate edifices into pieces.  The piercing shriek of the countless descending bolts and the thundering explosions of the impacts drowned out the screams of the panicked and the dying.  

When the attack finally ended a quarter hour later, the smoke of the burning rubble clogged the air and blotted out the sun.  So pervasive was the devastation that no emergency sirens sounded in the now eerily quiet city.  Only crackling from innumerable fires, cries of the wounded, and wails of mourning rose from the obliterated capital.  

---

Sabé put an arm around Padmé and pulled her closer.  The two of them were huddled together on a sofa in the Naboo delegation suite at the Senate, helping each other manage their shock and grief from the news of the Vyhrragian attack on Alderaan.  "This is unbelievable," she said softly.  "We will have to open a Board of Inquiry immediately."    

"I know," Padmé whispered from the comfort of Sabé's shoulder.  "How could this happen?  How could the Vyhrragians get such a large fleet into the Core without being detected?  They had to cross nearly two sectors to get there.  How is that possible?"

"The High Council of Fleet Admirals will have a lot to answer for, there's no doubt about that."  

"This is so awful.  Millions, they're saying.  All the major cities.  Undefended civilian targets.  Millions.  I can't even comprehend it."

"It's a terrible tragedy," Sabé sighed forlornly.  "And it could happen again anywhere."

"That's what frightens me," Padmé nodded.  "Naboo at least has some planetary defenses, but we couldn't hold off an attack like this.  There's no way."  

"We'll just have to hope it doesn't happen.  It's all we can do."  

Padmé lifted her head up and wiped her eyes.  "Play back that last part of the speech again."

"Sure," Sabé said.  She reached over to the small table beside the sofa and tapped on the viewscreen's controller.  A moment later the screen activated and displayed a still image of King Argis IV of Vyhrrag.  

The video image began to play.  "Let today be a lesson to all those who have stood idly by while the Republic inflicts horror beyond imagination upon my people," the tyrant declared bombastically from his usual perch on a balcony of his royal palace.  "The New Justice movement seeks only fairness and equity.  We seek only to share in the prosperity and peace of the Core worlds.  In return we have received only violence.  Our calls for conciliation have been rejected.  Our prayers for peace have been ignored.  Today our patience has run out.  If we must, we will defend ourselves against this unjustified and illegal aggression.  Listen carefully, Chancellor Millius, and mark these words.  Your homeworld will be but the first of the planets of the Core to suffer this fate if you do not change your course.  It is not too late to end our disagreements by negotiation."  Argis raised his clenched fists into the air.  "But if you mean to have a war, then let it begin today!"  The cheering of his throngs of supporters on the plaza beneath the balcony was cut off when Sabé tapped the controller again.  

"It's disgusting," Padmé growled.  "It's all lies.  It's so patently deceitful."  

"I'm sure everyone will see it that way, Padmé," soothed Sabé reassuringly.  "The Holonet certainly is giving no credence to any of Argis' arguments.  Everyone knows it's only rhetoric."  

"You're right, I'm sure," Padmé sighed.  She took a deep breath and took Sabé's hands in hers.  "Do you think Leia and Sarré know?  Do you think we should contact them?"  

"I doubt they've heard yet," Sabé said thoughtfully.  "They're pretty isolated on Pharenniol."  She squeezed her dear friend's hands.  "And I don't think we should contact them.  We'll hear from them within a few days anyway.  Telling them now will only worry them needlessly."  

"I guess so," Padmé nodded, pulling her hands away to wipe her eyes again.  "How is Nalé taking this?"

"Hard.  She's pretty traumatized."  Sabé brushed a few stray locks of hair out of Padmé's face.  "Alain's with her at home.  I can stay as long as you need."

"Thanks," Padmé smiled weakly.  

"Sure," Sabé nodded.  She knew how desperately Padmé wished Anakin were here right now, how painfully alone her friend would feel at home tonight in an empty bed.  She would do what she could to help, just as Padmé always did for her.  

After a minute Padmé spoke again.  "I just hope we can carry the votes in the Senate tomorrow.  We can't delay any longer with all-out war.  We have to strike at Argis now.  It's only going to get much, much worse if we don't."  

Sabé smiled.  She didn't have to be persuaded on those points in the slightest, but she knew it helped Padmé manage her pain to say them.  She pulled Padmé into another embrace.  "We'll prevail.  I know we will."

---

Three days of investigation had resulted in nothing.  The pair of Jedi Masters had examined nearly every stained-glass window, painting, sculpture, and icon in the Cathedral of the Liberation and had found nothing that seemed even remotely to be a clue about the revived Sith menace.  Hours of meditation in the small prayer vestibules had yielded no hints from the Force either.  Anakin was beginning to wonder whether they had misinterpreted the nightmare vision completely.  Striding briskly through the crowds gathered in the main hall, he at least knew where he would find Obi-Wan.  

His destination was a hidden alcove off a side hallway in the northwest corner of the Cathedral.  It contained a life-size statue of Qui-Gon Jinn.  Anakin stopped just behind the shoulder of the brown-cloaked figure standing in front of the marble likeness.  "We made the right decision," he said quietly, "to allow this.  The Naboo want it here.  Padmé always wanted to honor him.  They appreciate it very much."

"I know," Obi-Wan said quietly.  "That is not what troubles me any longer."

"What, then?"

"It's so… accurate," Obi-Wan sighed.  "Every time I see it, I expect him to slap me on the back and ask me why it's been so long.  It's almost… too real."  

Anakin wrapped an arm around his companion's shoulders.  "I feel that too.  The first time I saw this, I actually thought I heard his voice.  Asking me how many more Podraces I'd won, of all things."

Obi-Wan laughed.  "I miss him."

"So do I."  

They stood silently for a few minutes, gazing at the smiling visage of their long-dead friend.  Finally Obi-Wan shook his head and turned away.  "We've done enough for today.  I will meditate again tonight.  After that…"

Anakin shook his head in frustration as he turned around and led the way back toward the main hall.  "One more day.  If we still have found nothing, we simply will have to start again from the beginning."

"I agree," Obi-Wan nodded.  

They reached the main hall and began to move through the crowd in the direction of the great doors on the far end.  The expansive chamber was dozens of meters across and nearly a hundred meters long, with arching ceilings that soared high into the air.  The warm glow of the setting sun streamed in through the windows, the images in the colored glass sparkling the visitors with a multitude of hues.  

While they navigated through the throng, Anakin dropped his mind into the Force and scanned the emotions and feelings of those he passed.  They varied from happiness to grief, tranquility to passion, and faith to cynicism.  From beneath the cowl of his brown cloak he gazed at the faces of the men and woman, humans and Gungans, who came here to pray, meditate, think, or simply honor the planet's fallen heroes.  

He saw an elderly woman and felt her sorrow for her son, lost in battle against the Trade Federation.  He saw a middle-aged Gungan and felt his pride at the courage of a father he barely could remember.  He saw a teenaged couple huddled in a pew and felt their simple pleasure at being able to hold hands away from prying parental eyes.  He saw a soldier in dress whites and felt his solemn plea for safety in his impending deployment.  

He met the eyes of a woman and felt nothing. 

In that very instant he heard a whisper in the Force.  So quiet it was almost inaudible.  The same one he had heard over twenty years ago in the Lake Country.  Identical.  

_"Vader_._"_  

His heart stopped beating.  His stomach lurched.  He stopped breathing.  His feet did not move forward.  

Immediately his eyes searched for the woman again.  He found her but she no longer faced him.  He could see only the side of her face and a few tendrils of straight black hair that leaked out from the hood of her black cloak.  Surging his feelings toward her in the Force, he again found nothing.  

Obi-Wan, who at first had continued walking, by now had sensed his sudden action and had walked back to him.  "What is it?"  

Anakin compelled his voice to speak.  "That one," he indicated with his eyes.  "In black.  She's… empty.  And I heard it again.  In the Force.  The voice.  The name."  

Obi-Wan followed the gaze and squinted in concentration.  A heartbeat later his eyes popped open widely and his white eyebrows rose as high as Anakin had ever seen.  "Is it truly possible?"  

Anakin had not taken his eyes from the figure moving gradually away from them.  "There is only one way to find out for certain," he said quietly.  There was no reluctance in his voice.  

"I will be at your side," Obi-Wan said, resting a hand on Anakin's shoulder.  "If you believe you must."  

"We have no choice.  We will have only this one chance."

"I know."

Anakin kept his eyes on the black-cloaked woman receding in the crowd.  He took several deep breaths and cleared his mind.  Then he prepared to do something he had not done in many years.  

Touch the dark side of the Force.  

In his mind's eye he found the perfect pathway.  First he thought of Lillaé, the young girl whose life he had changed simply because he could – without even learning her surname.  Then he thought about what would have happened to her had he not intervened.  

Anger began to smolder in a distant point far back in his mind.  

Then he remembered the sharp cry of her fear that he had perceived in the Force.  What it meant.  All the times he had felt it in Mos Espa as a boy.  

The smoldering embers grew into a bonfire.  Its heat warmed the back of his neck. 

Then he dredged up from the depths of long-repressed memory the attack on his mother that terrible night.  Her fear.  Her horrifying fear.  Her shrieking agony in the Force.  

The bonfire erupted into a raging conflagration.  Beads of sweat formed on his brow.  

And then, last of all, he remembered his failure.  His weakness.  His powerlessness.  His inability to protect her.  He should have been able to stop her pain.  No matter how much Jedi serenity he had imposed on himself over these long years, deep down in his soul he never had forgiven himself for it.  

The conflagration of anger exploded into a violent cyclone of hatred.  He was at its center.  

Anakin's eyes came into focus again on the black-cloaked woman.  With the scorching power of the dark side swirling around his body in the Force, he charged his feelings at her again.  

She stopped in her tracks and spun around.  

She was smiling.  

She stood there.  Unmoving.  Her brown eyes flickered with a fiery fury as they held his in the most intense stare he ever had experienced.  

She was smiling.  

With its ferocity encircling his awareness, Anakin could sense the power of the dark side in her.  She was the Sith Master.  He had no doubt.  Quickly he sent more of his feelings at her and perceived not only her strength in the dark side but also her connections to her apprentices.  How many he could not tell, but she was connected to all of them.  

She was smiling.  

Anakin remained rooted in place.  _Do it_, he heard himself think.  _Now.  She is here.  She and her connection to all the Sith.  All it takes is a thought.  Think it, and they all die_.  Anakin took a step forward.  _It will all be over.  The suffering.  The pain.  The danger_.  He took another step forward.  _Make her pay for what she did to Leia.  For what she has done to the galaxy.  For the agony she has inflicted on Padmé.  Take revenge for all of us_.  Another step forward.  _Kill her.  End this right here, right now._

She was smiling more broadly.  

She reached out a hand to him.  

Anakin smiled too.  _All I have to do is hate you, and you die._  The cyclone of malice roared around his perceptions.  On his signal it would burst forward and destroy her and her kind forever.  

And his soul along with them.

_No._

He closed his eyes.  Instantly he called into his consciousness his favorite memory of Padmé – drenched in sweat, her long brown hair a hopelessly tangled mess, tears streaming down her face, cradling their newborn twins in her arms.  

With a final howl of raw violence the blazing cyclone vanished into nothingness.  

Anakin opened his eyes again and saw the Sith Master.  

She was no longer smiling.  She spun around and charged away through the crowd as quickly as she could.  

"Run!  She must not get away," yelled Anakin as he and Obi-Wan burst after her simultaneously.  "Don't let her out of your sight!"  

"I don't plan to," Obi-Wan grinned.  

The screams of the panicking crowd rose into the rafters of the Cathedral of the Liberation as the two Jedi Masters began the most important chase of their lives.  


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

With the soft orange glow of sunset casting an eerie fire on the stone buildings and deep, long shadows in the crowded streets of Theed, Anakin charged through the throngs of innocent bystanders as safely as he could.  The black-cloaked woman fled from him with Force-powered strides, cruelly knocking aside those unfortunate enough to be in her path.  He could sense Obi-Wan nearby, running at top speed to try to flank the object of their chase.  

And yet it seemed as though the Sith Master was not seriously attempting to elude them.  Anakin had no doubt she could run faster, or duck inside a store and disappear among the patrons, or simply turn a corner and use the dark side to project an illusion they would not detect until she was long gone.  

Instead she ran on a straight path toward the spaceport.  

He had managed to close the distance between them to a matter of a few meters by the time they reached the edges of the starship hangar facilities.  There were fewer people here, but the streets were narrower and the shadows from the buildings far more pervasive.  Although he could not sense her presence directly, he followed her with his eyes and tracked her progress in other ways: the noise of her footfalls, the scattering of birds, the startled reactions of those who caught a glimpse of her improbably fast gait.  

She pivoted on her heel and burst through an open doorway.  Anakin blasted the Force through his feet to pursue her, fully expecting the door to slam closed behind her before he arrived.  

It didn't.  

Anakin raced into an empty hangar bay.  The massive door was raised, revealing a stunning view of the sprawling, dusk-lit plaza of the spaceport.  Only the dim auxiliary interior lights were activated, giving the vacant bay a cold, gray hue.  

A few meters ahead of him stood the Sith Master with her inactive lightsaber handle clutched in her right hand.  Her raised hood still concealed her face, but long strands of straight black hair flowed out from beneath the cowl.  

Anakin stopped and snapped the handle of his regular blade into the palm of his hand.  His new invisible laser sword was a tempting alternative, but the stakes were far too high to use anything but the trusty old weapon he had used for almost two decades now.  With his other hand he brushed off his hood as his brown cloak billowed around him and he assumed a stance of readiness.  

Behind him Anakin sensed Obi-Wan rushing through the door, only to be met by a series of blaster bolts from the right.  With a quick glance over his shoulder, Anakin saw a young man about Luke's age charge from the shadows.  Wearing the same black Sith attire as the Master, the man's left hand held an ignited red lightsaber.  From his right hand a blaster pistol was sending a torrent of bolts toward Obi-Wan, who tumbled smoothly along the floor to evade some of the blasts, then sprang to his feet again with his turquoise blade ignited to deflect away the rest.  As a lightsaber duel between them began, Anakin turned back to face the woman.  

She chuckled as she reached up her left hand and drew down her hood as well.  "And so," she said in a deep contralto voice filled with malice, "we meet again, Skywalker." 

"No," he gasped.  

"Oh, yes," she laughed darkly.  

"But… you… You were killed at Geonosis," he stammered.  

"Reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated."  

"You died in the battle," he insisted.  "Several Jedi watched you die."  

"It would seem they were mistaken," she smirked.  "Really, Skywalker, your surprise disappoints me.  I'm hardly the first to fake my own death to escape the spiritual abyss that is the Jedi Order."  

"I don't recall that any of the others became Master of the Sith," Anakin growled as he took a step forward.  

"Indeed," she winked as she took a step back.  "But none of them had Sidious as a benefactor as I did."

"What?"

She laughed derisively.  "Oh, Skywalker.  I would have expected so much more wisdom from you.  We have worked in secret for a millennium to destroy the Jedi and all you stand for.  Do you really think that Sidious would have placed all his plans on the shoulders of a man so old he had Jinn as a Padawan and a boy so headstrong and reckless that even Kenobi could not pacify him?"  

As they circled each other with slow steps, Anakin perceived that Obi-Wan easily was defending himself against the male Sith's attacks.  He suspected the other duel was nothing more than a ploy to keep Obi-Wan preoccupied and he and the Master alone.  "Why?" he asked forlornly.  "Why, Cimma, why?" 

"That name no longer has any meaning for me," she snarled.  

Anakin remembered Cimma Tuzzin clearly.  About four years his junior, she had been a promising young talent when she had been killed in battle at Geonosis.  Or so the Order had believed for over two decades.  "You were my friend," he said, heart-stricken.  "I trusted you.  Gina and Frekk trusted you.  Ellina most of all.  How could you betray us?" 

"I would have thought that by now you would have started to understand," she scoffed.  "You were never the only Jedi in Sidious' sights, Skywalker.  His plans to turn to a powerful Jedi to the dark side were in motion long before the precious Chosen One ever arrived in the Temple." 

"You're lying," he spat. 

"You must decide for yourself whether I speak the truth because I know you would not believe me, or whether I speak merely lies," she chuckled.  "Hear this, Skywalker.  Before you were discovered, Sidious already had foreseen that Maul would never survive until the final annihilation of the Jedi could begin.  He already had begun to identify suitable candidates.  Maul was slain earlier than anticipated, but Jinn's death opened the way for Dooku to join us.  Turning a Jedi Master was most beneficial, for it allowed Sidious to focus on the young generation.  You in particular, of course."

"He manipulated me," Anakin agreed.  "But if you see this, why allow him to manipulate you as well?" 

"You see it as manipulation only because you did not perceive it happening," she chided.  "I wanted that power.  Long before I understood the true powers of the Sith, I knew the might of the dark side was my future.  I have embraced it from the first moments I felt it flowing in my veins and burning in my heart.  Sidious did not have to manipulate me.  I joined him willingly the day he first approached me."  She ignited her shimmering scarlet laser sword.  "So greatly did I feel the vibrant power of the Force in my spirit that I was not deterred when Sidious made clear you were the principal target.  I was his secret traitor inside the Jedi Temple.  I helped him manipulate you for years, Skywalker.  Someday you will see this to be true."

"You're lying," he insisted again.  His turquoise blade snap-hissed to life in his right hand.  

"Do not equate blindness on your part with deceit on mine," she said patronizingly.  "You are a fool and always have been.  Ellina trusted me, on that we both agree.  But it is I, not you, who knows what truly was in her heart.  It was I who convinced her that she cared for you.  It was I who first introduced her to the dark powers she used to conceal her affair with you.  It was I who showed her that the future lies in supremacy and domination, not in the quagmire of powerlessness imposed by the Jedi Code.  She wanted to be part of my plan to escape the Order all along, can't you see?  When your relationship was exposed, you both would have been expelled.  That was what she always wanted, from the moment she first kissed you.  We were going to leave together – the three of us.  And I would have been there as your savior, to lead you both to Sidious.  In the torment of that moment, Skywalker, you would have succumbed.  Both of you.  Have no doubt."

"You may slander Ellina's memory all you like," Anakin said firmly, "but you will never persuade me that she willingly sought the dark side.  I have made peace with her actions, and nothing you say will ever change that."

The red and blue blades buzzed in the air, poised to strike.  

"You cannot alter the truth simply by wishing it away, Skywalker," she laughed.  "No matter how hard you try."

Anakin sensed that Obi-Wan continued to hold the stalemate with the younger Sith.  His old friend was too far away and too busy to hear the Sith Master's words, so Anakin made sure to commit every single one of them to memory.  "You must be very proud," he said sarcastically, "to have been bold enough to eliminate the Rule of Two.  Such a long tradition thrown away so lightly."

"Oh, not lightly at all," she laughed again.  "To destroy the Chosen One, our numbers must be greater than merely two.  It has been foreordained for many years.  I am simply the one to carry it out, now that the time of the Chosen One has arrived after all these centuries."  

"You claim Sidious was your benefactor," Anakin said calmly after a moment's pause.  "So tell me, then, how were you able to achieve mastery of the dark side after I killed him?"

"Isn't it obvious, Skywalker?  After I faked my death I returned to Coruscant, where I trained with Sidious while you and your pathetic wife hid like cowards.  And then one day you finally reappeared and demanded to meet him.  With one of our holocrons he passed on the legacy of the Sith to me, and we left the other for the Jedi to find."

"I don't believe you," Anakin exclaimed.  "You're saying that Sidious let me kill him!"

"Of course he did, Skywalker," she sneered.  She glanced away quickly at the continuing duel between Obi-Wan and her apprentice.  "He foresaw his own death at your hands that day.  No matter what you think to be true, Jedi, we will always be many steps ahead of you, as we were then.  Our ultimate victory is inevitable."   

"That remains to be seen," Anakin snarled.  With two quick strides he surged forward and attacked.  

---

Luke took the lead as the four apprentices ran through the dimly lit hallways of the Hutts' compound.  His turquoise blade cast a faint light on the floor and walls, but mainly he relied on his Force perceptions to retrace their path to the prison building's exit.  

With his concentration on their escape route, Mara once again was monitoring their opponents.  Without speaking aloud or even telepathically to him, he could feel through the surging link between their minds her impressions and conclusions about their progress.  

He also sent part of his awareness around their friends.  Ralli was struggling to keep up.  She had severe internal injuries and was only still alive through her own efforts with the Force over the past few days.  But now that exertion had begun to take its toll, and the energy she was expending in their escape she couldn't use to keep herself alive.  They weren't just running for their freedom; they were running against the clock.  Gars was faring better, but he too was exhausted from fending off the pain for so long.  

They needed to get away – and quickly.  

He felt a subconscious warning from Mara, a sensation of readiness for a confrontation to come.  As they burst around a corner and headed down the final hallway before the exit, he saw a pair of gangsters blocking their path.  The two short, rotund Gamorreans charged forward with their vibroaxes swinging.  

Luke powered his feet with the Force to get ahead of the others.  With a quick parrying arc he severed both of the axe blades in two, then smacked one of the Gamorreans on the top of the head with the butt of his saber while he kicked the other one hard in the chest.  The two green, pig-nosed aliens fell limply to the floor.  

An instant later Ralli and Gars came up behind him and the four of them ran toward the exit.  

Luke's eyes reacted in indignation as they dashed into the glaringly bright noontime sunlight of the courtyard.  Fortunately his Force awareness told him all he needed to know – there was no one there.  

"Come on," he waved to the others, "hurry."  

Just as they reached the open archway to the street beyond, a crowd of gangsters of various species swarmed from several doors in the courtyard and opened fire on them with blaster rifles.  Luke didn't stop running and led Ralli and Gars out.  He sensed Mara hanging a few steps back, her violet laser sword streaking expertly through the air to deflect away all the incoming blaster fire.  

"And now?" asked Gars through labored breaths.  

"This way," Luke replied quickly, motioning toward the right.  

Ralli winced noticeably as they continued to run.  "Where are we going?"  

"I don't know," Luke admitted.  "We're just running until we've lost them."

"And we've got a problem," Mara said from behind Ralli.  "It's not just these guys chasing us.  They've got others moving to cut us off."

Ralli grimaced as she tried to perceive it in the Force.  Gars shook his head, too tired even to make an attempt.  But Luke extended his feelings into the roiling currents of the energy fields in the bustling city and found the same ripples Mara had.  Coordinated movements.  Planning.  Murderous intentions.  Warnings.  A noose tightening around them as they ran.  

"Let's mix it up a bit, then," Luke said calmly.  "Let's be unpredictable."  

Mara nodded.  "Go.  We'll follow."

Luke turned down a side street, then took them through an alley, then reversed course down another street.  The path was erratic and random; it would make no sense at all to anyone who couldn't see it ahead of time as he could.  

But the Hutts had many agents in the city, and they knew who they were looking for.  

"Go left," he heard Mara say from behind him.  "We can lose the big group that way."

In the Force he felt her idea rush into his mind like the flow of a river.  She was right.  "Yes," he said.  "This way!"  

As predicted they broke away from the path of a large number of the pursuing gangsters with the maneuver, but there still were two groups of enemies to evade, one ahead and one to the side.  

Luke could sense in the Force that Ralli and Gars were running as fast as they could.  He wasn't sure it would be fast enough, but he had to hope.  

The situation crystallized in his mind as they came closer and closer to the nexus point where they either would pass by a nearby alley in time, or they would arrive too late and be fired upon by the gangsters charging along it.  He sensed that the others perceived the same thing.  

He looked back over his shoulder.  "We should find a position to defend," he said without breaking stride.  "We might not make it, and we're better off holding ground."  

"No," Ralli shook her head.  "We'll make it.  Keep running.  I'll go faster."

"I will too," Gars nodded.  "Go."

"Luke's right," Mara insisted.  "We only have two blades.  We need to find someplace we can defend you better.  We can't be out in the open."  

"No," Ralli said firmly.  "If we run we can make it.  Just go.  Blast it, just go!"  

Luke frowned and kept running.  He felt Mara's apprehension at the idea too, but like him she couldn't think of a way to compel their injured friends to do otherwise.  

He perceived the paths of their group and the gangsters getting closer and closer.  The alley was only a few dozen meters away now.  As the four Jedi ran down the street, their enemies to the side were almost there.  

It was going to be close.

Very, very close.  

Luke saw it in the Force before it happened.  "No!" he shouted.  "We have to stop!"  

But Ralli and Gars kept running, and he had no choice but to stay with them.  

"No!" he yelled again.  "Stop!  No!"

His friends didn't listen.  

Wordlessly he and Mara burst between their friends and the gangsters swarming from the mouth of the alley with blaster rifles blazing.  The blue and purple blades spun circles through the air at the incoming bolts, but it was too little and too late.  

Ralli and Gars screamed in agony as lasers tore into their bodies and spun them around like leaves in a whirlwind.  

---****

Luke's eyes didn't see his two friends flailing in air or collapsing to the ground or writhing in pain.  He perceived it all through the Force, and even worse he felt their life energy flooding away at an alarming rate.  If there was any chance to save them now, there was only one way to do it.  

Through the link between their minds he and Mara knew what to do without having to speak it.  Luke surged away from the mouth of the alley toward the street ahead of them, where the second group of gangsters was rapidly approaching.  Mara charged directly into the hooligans who had emerged from the alley.  

A dozen meters away from his gravely wounded friends he confronted the thugs.  His turquoise blade whirled in front of him, deflecting blaster fire back at his attackers.  

Luke dropped his mind fully into the Force and released all conscious thought.  The Force controlled his movements and directed his strategy.  

One against eight, and it was over in a heartbeat.  

The Rodian took a deflected blaster bolt to the leg, then found himself holding a blaster rifle without a barrel.  

The Twi'lek was rendered unconscious by a powerful kick to the head.  

A repelled bolt hit the Gamorrean squarely on his metal helmet, knocking him silly.  

The Devaronian passed out from the pain of having his weapon hand sliced off.  

The Nikto turned and limped away as fast as he could on a knee shattered by deflected blaster fire.  

The three-eyed Gran fell to the ground clutching at his severed arm.  

The Trandoshan had the misfortune of firing his blaster at the same instant the lightsaber sliced through it, sending the bolt careening backward into his abdomen.  

Finally Luke lopped off the barrel of the human gangster's blaster rifle and kicked him in the chest.  The man sprawled backward, then rose to his knees and threw up his hands in surrender.  

Luke strode forward, his shimmering laser sword grasped firmly in both hands.  

The Force told him he was too late.  Ralli and Gars already were dead.  

He had failed.  

He had disobeyed his Master and now his friends were dead because of it.  

He hadn't been strong enough to protect them.  

He had failed.  

And this man in front of him – this ruffian, this criminal, this tool of the Hutts – was responsible.  

In three more strides he would reach the man.  

Luke raised his hands up over his right shoulder and readied his blade.  

"Luke, don't," said Mara's voice quietly from behind him.  

He ignored her and took another step forward.  

He stopped when he heard and saw and sensed in the Force the violet blade at his throat, her arm extended outward from her position behind his left shoulder where he couldn't see her.  

"Stop, Luke," she said.  "Stop.  Don't make me stop you."

And he knew she would do it, too.  She would stop him if he continued.  

Luke stared coldly at the trembling man in front of him.  Then with a deep breath he deactivated his weapon.  The laser sword at his throat retracted too, and he turned to face her.  "Let's go," he sighed.  

They didn't need to say anything.  Quickly they walked back down the street to the spot where the bloodied corpses of Ralli and Gars lay sprawled in the sand in the searing heat of the twin suns.  

Luke reached down and picked up Gars.  Although his dead friend was much taller than he, with the Force supplementing his strength he heaved the lifeless body over his shoulder.  Mara solemnly collected Ralli's limp form into her arms.  

Before they moved, he looked into her sad green eyes.  "Thank you," he said.  "Thank you for stopping me."

She nodded.  "You would have done the same."  

"If you hadn't been there, I… I… I don't know what I would have done," he admitted forlornly.  

"It doesn't matter," she said simply.  "I was here.  And you didn't.  We have more important things to deal with right now."

His awareness in the Force told him that groups of gangsters were converging on their position again.  But this time there was a way out.  They could get away.  "You're right," he agreed.  "All that's for later."  

Without another word they broke into a run, carrying the bodies of their slain friends with them.  

---

Yoda lifted his face and fixed his bulging green eyes on Danaé.  "Strong with the dark side of the Force, this place is.  Confront it you must."  

She looked over her shoulder at the shadowy entrance in the roots of the tree.  "You want me to go inside?"

"Hmm."

"Yes, Master Yoda."  She took a deep breath and turned around to face the grim portal.  

Yoda sighed.  "Your weapon.  You will not need it."  

"What's in there?"

"Only what you take with you."

Without turning around, Danaé unclipped her lightsaber handle from the hem of her training britches.  She held it in her hand for a long moment before she spun to face the ancient Master.  "Here," she said calmly, extending her arm to him. 

Yoda reached up with both hands for the weapon.  It was nearly as long as his gimer stick and many times greater in diameter, but he effortlessly pulled it into his lap.  "Go."  

Danaé nodded firmly and walked away.  

Inside the enormous dead tree was a passageway formed of roots and dirt.  It was not just the presence of the dark side that gave this place a chill – the air itself actually was much colder than the misty swamp outside.  Carefully she made her way along the narrow path, bracing herself on the walls and ducking to avoid hanging roots from the ceiling as she went.  She had the impression she was descending beneath the surface of the ground, but she couldn't be sure.  

Only a small bit of ambient light trickled into the dark chamber through gaps in the roots and soil.  Extending her awareness in the Force, Danaé was able to move slowly.  Yet the strength of the dark side in this place was clouding her ability to draw upon the living Force, and the disruption in her perceptions was incredibly disconcerting.  

After a few more paces she heard a distinctive sound behind her.  She spun on her heel to see a tall, black-clad figure with a shimmering green lightsaber.  

"Hello, Danaé," the bearded man said.  

"Master Trill?" 

"You didn't expect to see me?"

Her heart was pounding.  Her breath hitched in her throat.  Her legs were wobbling.  "I thought you were dead."

"Perhaps I am."  

She surged her feelings toward him in the Force and found nothing.  It couldn't possibly be him.  Not really.  But the image was uncanny.  It was so utterly believable.  "How did you get here?"

"You summoned me," her former Master snarled.  "Your failure."

"My failure?"

"You are a failure, Danaé.  In every way."  

Her eyes welled up.  _No.  No._  She had felt this way about herself for over a year, but he couldn't be saying this to her.  Not Master Trill.  Not Oga of all people.  "But I…" 

"You didn't save me, Danaé."

"I tried," she insisted as tears began to flow down her cheeks.  "I tried."  

"No!" he barked, raising his weapon slightly from where it hummed at his waist.  "No!  You have learned that lesson from the beginning!"

"Do or do not," Danaé sobbed.  "There is no try."  

"You _did_ not save me.  You could have, if only you had searched for me sooner.  Instead you waited.  And your failure cost me my life."  

"I did all I could…"  

"No!" Master Trill snapped.  "You could have done more!"

"Of course I could have," she whimpered.  She had believed it from the very moment she had realized he wasn't coming back.  The tears streamed down her face uncontrollably.  "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't help me, Danaé," he glared.  "It doesn't help your sister either." 

"What are you…"

"When her husband died, were you there for her?  She needed you."

"I was…  I was searching for you."

"After it was already too late!  You knew I was gone, and yet you stayed.  You didn't even attend the funeral."

"But she said…"

"Of course she said she understood," he scoffed.  "Do you really think she would tell you the truth about how much you hurt her?  Is it like her to say such a thing?"

"No," Danaé conceded.  Her heart was broken.  Her stomach was lurching beyond control.  With a defeated sigh she sank to her knees in front of him.  "No, she wouldn't."  

"And the others?"  He towered over her, his emerald blade crackling the damp air.  

"Luke always wanted to train with me," she sniffled.  "But I've always been too weak for him.  I'm not good enough with the saber, or as a pilot.  He's stopped asking."  She took a deep breath, but her body still was shuddering.  "And I never spend enough time with Bryon.  We always played together when we were younger, but now I talk to Sarré more than I talk to him.  He must hate me."  

"I'm sure he does," her former Master growled.  "They all do."

"Why shouldn't they?" she gasped, trying to catch her breath again.  "I'm a failure as an apprentice.  My father is so disappointed in me.  He never says anything, but I know it's how he feels.  He wishes I hadn't been born Force-sensitive at all."

"So does your mother," he chastised her.  "At least then you might have been around more for her."  

"I'm sorry," Danaé wept.  "I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry."

"Apologies are worthless!  Worthless!"  He stared coldly into her eyes.  "Just…  like…  you." 

"I know," she whispered.  

"You don't deserve to live!" he shouted, raising the whirring lightsaber over his head in both hands.  

All of her worst fears had been realized.  All the feelings she had suppressed for the last year had been exposed.  Everything she had tried to deny had been spoken.  

Every last word of it was true.  

"I don't deserve to live," she repeated quietly.  "I'm worthless."  

"Only now, at the end, do you understand," the figure of Master Trill said darkly.  

"I'm a failure to everyone in my life," Danaé rasped, looking up and waiting for the mortal blow to fall.  She couldn't handle the pain any longer.  

In slow motion the green blade began to descend toward her defenseless throat.  

She almost felt relieved, watching it come toward her.  "I'm sorry, Master Yoda," she said under her breath.  "I never meant it to end like this."  

Her mind responded with a memory.  

_"Proud of you I am."_

In its sluggish arc the green blade now was only inches from decapitating her.  

"No!" she screamed.  "No!"  

She slammed both palms out in front of her and used the Force to blast the tall man away from her.  He sailed through the air and smashed into the wall of the passage – and vanished.  

Danaé fell forward, barely protecting her face with her hands as her torso collapsed to the moist dirt.  She lay there, crying into her fingers and shaking with tremors of anguish.  "No," she gasped.  "None of that is true."  She tried to breathe again.  "None of it."  

---

Outside the cave Yoda sat with his eyes closed, holding the girl's lightsaber handle in his lap.  Slowly he ran the three fingers of one hand along its length.  

"Hmm," he mumbled to himself, shifting his weight ever so slightly on the tree stump.  

Then he smiled and opened his eyes.  "Good.  Good."  He patted the handle approvingly.  "Ready this one is." 

---****

Bryon gazed out the broad window of his mother's Senate office at the glittering lights of the distant nighttime skyline of Coruscant.  He took a series of deep breaths and concentrated on the whizzing spots of red light from receding traffic in an airspeeder corridor.  After a moment he had controlled his frustration.  

The meeting was not going well.  

"I understand your position, Mill," his mother was saying behind him.  "But it's too dangerous.  It's that simple."  

"And I appreciate your concern, Padmé, I truly do," Supreme Chancellor Bail Millius responded patiently.  "But you need to understand the situation I am in.  My homeworld has been brutalized.  The casualties are staggering.  And tomorrow we will be asking for total mobilization of the Republic."

"Yes, I know," Padmé sighed.  "It hasn't occurred since the Separatist insurrection.  You must look strong before you can call for such an action."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Millius passionately.  "I must show the enemy that we are not afraid.  That we will not lose our resolve.  That any pain he inflicts on us will only make us more determined to defeat him.  I _must_ return to Alderaan."  

Bryon spun on his heel and entered the conversation again.  "With all due respect, Your Excellency, you _must_ consider your own safety.  The Republic needs strong, stable leadership during this crisis, especially now that full-scale war is inevitable.  We simply cannot afford to lose another Chancellor."  

"Don't worry about showing me disrespect, Major," Millius insisted.  "I do not ask for the opinions of those whose judgment I do not trust."  He blew out a deep sigh.  "Nonetheless, my priorities are different from yours.  It is your sole responsibility to ensure my security.  But I have obligations that I cannot forgo merely because they might endanger my life.  It is imperative that I travel to Alderaan to reassure all the citizens of the galaxy of the strength of the Republic and our will to triumph."  

"I am aware, Your Excellency, that you cannot make that point as effectively in another venue," Bryon persisted.  "Yet you also must consider the facts.  The Vyhrragians have inserted an assault fleet into the Core.  A fleet with enough warships and armament to inflict catastrophic destruction on a planet in less than two hours.  We still do not know the composition of that fleet.  Even more importantly, we do not know its present location.  But there is little reason to think the enemy is not still somewhere in the Core, and probably somewhere near Alderaan.  Until more information can be obtained, it is absurd for you even to consider traveling there."  

"Listen to him, Mill," Padmé pleaded.  "This is why you brought him on in the first place.  You're a politician.  You don't know security.  You don't understand the gravity of the dangers.  You have to listen to the experts." 

"Padmé, please understand something," Millius said earnestly.  "You have done well tonight.  You have made every argument the best it could possibly be made.  But you know as well as I that not every decision can be made logically.  There are times we must do what we know is right, what we know is necessary, even if it is not supported by reason or wisdom."  He looked closely into her eyes, then into Bryon's.  "My decision is final.  I depart at dawn for Alderaan." 

"Understood, Your Excellency," Bryon bowed stiffly.  "My units will be ready."  

"As they always are, Major Skywalker," Millius nodded definitively.  "The Navy warships for the convoy are listed in the briefing memo.  If you believe they are inadequate, you have the authority of my office to demand whatever additional support you deem necessary."  

"Yes, Your Excellency."  Bryon said nothing more, fighting back his urge to scream at the Chancellor for his idiocy.  

Millius strode quickly to Padmé and placed a hand on her shoulder.  "The trip will take only a day.  I am confident you and Acting Senator Bellion and the others will handle the legislation perfectly in my absence." 

"Thank you, Mill," Padmé said quietly.  "May the Force be with you."  

"And also with you," the Supreme Chancellor smiled warmly.  Then he bowed politely, walked across her office, and departed out the door.  

Bryon stepped over to his mother's side.  "You did the best you could."

"I'm sorry it wasn't enough," she whispered.  She reached out and took his hand in both of hers.  "I know you couldn't disapprove of this more strongly."  

Bryon shrugged.  "That's true.  But I don't have the final decision and neither do you."  

"I just wish he had listened."  

"So do I, Mom."  

Padmé gazed up into his eyes.  "Be careful.  Be safe."

"Yeah," he sighed.  

"What is it, Bryon?"

"I have a very bad feeling about this."

---

Leia ran her fingers through her damp hair, which hung loosely over her simple silken white shirt and trailed down her back to just above the waistband of her matching shorts.  She emerged from her tent and saw Sarré sitting on one of the crates by the burning campfire in the middle of their group of three tents.  Taking a seat on an adjacent crate, Leia realized her friend was sobbing.  

Sarré kept staring into the fire.  "He'll be okay, won't he?" 

"Yes, he will," Leia nodded.  "The scanner showed no broken bones or internal injuries.  The bactade took away most of the pain, and he'll only need a few patches to protect the cuts."

"That's good," Sarré rasped through her hitching breaths.

"Chewie took him over to the showers to get cleaned up.  They'll be back shortly."

"Okay."  Tears still streamed down Sarré's face, and her body was shaking.  

"Tell me what's going on, Sarré," said Leia tenderly.  

"It's nothing," her friend sighed.  

"It's not nothing!  You're a mess," Leia insisted.  "This morning you were quiet.  And at the cafeteria…  I've… I've never seen you like that before.  And now… you're crying."  She reached out and put a hand on Sarré's shoulder.  "What's going on?"

"I just miss Bryon," Sarré sighed, wiping her eyes and damp cheeks with the back of her hand.  "That's all.  I mean, I think about him all the time.  I need him so much and… it's been over a month since I've seen him and… I guess I took it out on those men.  Especially their leader."

"You shouldn't have stomped on him like that," Leia said quietly.  "You could have killed him."

"I know," Sarré sobbed again, holding her face in both hands.  "I don't know why I did it.  I was… I was out of control.  I can't explain it.  I was just so angry."  

Leia already had concluded that Sarré was equally unable to control her feelings now, except it was sadness instead of rage.  But she didn't think bringing it up would accomplish anything, so she rested her other hand on Sarré's knee and pulled her close.  "It'll be okay," she soothed as best she could.  "You'll get to see Bryon soon.  Somehow.  I know you will.  I promise.  Everything will be better then."  

"I hope you're right," Sarré sighed, finally seeming to regain a bit of her composure.  "I'm sorry I'm like this, Leia.  I really am.  I think I just need some sleep; I haven't been sleeping well lately and I think maybe I'm just overtired.  I'll be better in the morning, okay?"  

"Okay," Leia whispered, not really convinced but not wanting to upset her handmaiden any more than she already was.  Before she could say anything further she heard Chewbacca's wroofing greeting from the dirt pathway.  

"Go to him," Sarré said simply.  "I insist.  I'll stay here; I want to think about a few things before I call it a night."

"Are you sure?"  When her friend nodded, Leia sprang to her feet and rushed to Han's side.  "How are you feeling?" she asked him anxiously. 

"I've been better, Princess," Han sighed, flashing her a weak but mischievous grin.  Chewie wrawled a question.  "Yeah, thanks.  I can take it from here.  See you in the morning."  

Leia leaned up to give Chewie an appreciative embrace, even though her hands couldn't reach each other across his broad back.  "Thank you.  For everything," she said into his ear.  Chewie only smiled and shrugged.  Then he turned away and ambled off into the dark night toward the grassy meadow where the _Falcon_ was docked. 

Han had stumbled a few paces toward his tent, but he had stopped in place and was swaying a bit.  Leia wrapped an arm around his waist and held him firmly.  "Take it slowly," she advised calmly.  

"Oh, I have, sweetheart," Han chuckled.  

Leia let the innuendo pass without a response.  "Come on, flyboy.  You need to be off your feet."  

"As you wish, Your Highness."  He leaned on her for support the final few steps to the tent, then ducked inside when she held the durafabric flap open for him.  She didn't close the flap behind her.  

She sat him down on the edge of the cot and stepped back.  "Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"Take off your shirt," she ordered again.  "We need to apply the bacta patches."  

He complied with a wink, pulling the blue shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor at the foot of the cot.  He leaned back and propped himself up on his outstretched arms.  He had left his sandals just inside the tent, so he now wore only a pair of blue shorts. 

She could tell he was admiring her body in the dim, flickering light from the single glowlamp in the tent.  Which wasn't really out of line, considering that she hadn't taken her eyes off his bare chest yet.  Then she realized that her hair had dampened the front of her white shirt – and she quickly pulled her tresses around to cover herself.  "Lie down." 

"Being a little direct tonight, aren't you?"

"Don't get excited."  

"Princess, being bossed around by you isn't quite enough to get me excited," he chuckled. 

"Sorry, Captain," she laughed.  "But I don't have the patience for anything else."  She retrieved the medpac from where Sarré had left it on the floor on the other side of the tent and walked back over to him.  

He was lying on his back, grinning up at her.  

Leia sat down on the edge of the cot, opened the medpac on the floor, and pulled out the antiseptic swabs and bacta patches.  "Stay still," she said softly.  "Please."

He did.  She ran her fingers over each of the bruises that remained on his chest to see how badly he winced in pain, and was glad to see he hardly reacted at all.  The bactade he had consumed earlier must have healed the minor injuries.  He had a few cuts on his left side and two on his left cheek.  She tenderly wiped the wounds with the swabs.  She smiled when he gritted his teeth to keep from flinching at the sting of the ointment.  Then she pressed the adhesive patches over the cuts and rubbed her fingers over them gently to be sure they would hold.  

When she raised her eyes to his face, she saw that his eyes were distracted by the way her shirt was hanging when she was leaning down to tend to him.  She laughed and sat up straight.  "Did you enjoy the view, Captain?"  

"Huh?  Uh…  What?" he stammered.  "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Han, you are a terrible liar," she laughed again.  She ran her fingertips slowly around his bare chest.  "I like this view very much," she whispered seductively.  "And I like the feel of it too."  He gasped as she ran a single finger along his abdomen just above the waistband of his shorts.  "Now tell me the truth.  Did you enjoy the view?"

"Yes," he admitted with a slight flush rising on his face.  "Yes, I did." 

"You wouldn't lie to me about that, would you?"

"Never."  

"Good," she whispered again.  She ran her fingers up his chest and squeezed his shoulders before she leaned down and kissed him.  

He kissed her back, devouring her lips with a desperate intensity.  She leaned herself against him and ran her hands up through his short brown hair.  His hands found her sides, slipping immediately under her shirt to caress her bare back.  She broke the kiss to nibble his earlobe, and he responded by lightly kissing the side of her neck over and over.  

She lifted her face to kiss him on the lips again.  Then she sat up, guiding his hands off her back and into her lap, where she held them in hers.  "Don't go anywhere," she said softly, staring intensely into his eyes.  "I'll be right back."

His response consisted of an incoherent moan that conveyed both disappointment and expectation.  

Leia rose to her feet and paced over to the tent's durafabric flap.  She pulled it out of the way and looked outside.  Sarré still was sitting by the fire, and she had heard the soft brush of sound from Leia's movement.  She turned over her shoulder and met Leia's eyes.  

Leia smiled at her handmaiden and nodded.  When Sarré nodded back, Leia pushed the flap against the wall of the tent and tapped the magnetic seals to close it off.  She stared at the plain gray durafabric for a long moment and took a few deep breaths.  

Then she strode back to the cot and stopped just out of his arms' reach.  She looked down at Han.  His hands were clasped over his stomach and he was gazing up at her in surprise.  He didn't say anything.  

Leia's fingers curled around the hem of her shirt and pulled it upward.  


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Han awoke knowing he was alone on the cot even before he opened his eyes.  When he did, he saw Leia pacing back and forth in the middle of the small durafabric tent, nervously chewing on the end of a fistful of her long brown hair.  "Princess?"

She continued to pace.  

"Princess?" he said a little bit louder this time.  

Still she paced.  

It was possible she hadn't heard him.  He raised his voice.  "Leia?" 

She stopped in place and spun to face him.  "Huh?  What?"  She blinked a few times.  "I'm sorry.  Did you say something?"  

"Great," Han groaned when he saw the anxious look in her eyes.  "Buyer's remorse.  This always happens to me."

"What are you talking about?"

He laughed.  "Like you don't know.  You don't have to hide what's coming next."  He blew out a frustrated sigh.  "It was a mistake.  You're sorry.  You never meant to hurt me.  Yeah, yeah."

"Han, stop it!" she snapped.  She quickly walked the four paces over to the cot and sat down on its edge.  "That's not it at all."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," she insisted.  She reached out and caressed the fading bruises on his cheek.  "It's not about you."

"Okay," he sighed.  He didn't think she was lying, and the tenderness of her touch and affectionate gaze in her eyes definitely didn't seem regretful about their night together.  "Leia?"

"Yes?"

He reached up and held her hand in his.  "I lo…"

"No!" she barked, leaping to her feet again and backing away from him.  "Don't say it.  Don't you dare say it."  

"What?"  He couldn't figure her out at all right now.  "What?"

"I know what you were going to say," she said sharply.  "And don't.  I don't care if right now you even think it's true.  Just don't."  

He didn't _think_ it was true; he _knew_ it was true.  He also knew she was in no mood to argue, so he raised his hands defensively.  "Okay, Your Worshipfulness.  You win."  

She began to pace and chew on her hair again.  

If she wasn't upset about him, then it had to be something else.  Something so disturbing she was willing to stop him from saying aloud what he knew full well they both had thought and felt with staggering intensity last night.  And he had no idea what it could possibly be.  But he knew one thing for certain – he loved her, and he would do anything to help her.  So he steeled himself for a backlash.  

"Tell me what's going on," Han demanded with a sternness that left no room at all for argument.  

Leia stared at him, taken aback by his tone.  But instead of lashing out at him, her face fell and her eyes welled up.  "It's Luke.  Something's wrong.  I can feel it."

"How?" he asked quietly.  "I thought you weren't strong in the Force." 

"I'm not," she said as she began to pace again.  "Not like a Jedi.  But he's my twin, Han.  I can always tell when he's in pain, no matter how far away he is.  Or when he's really happy.  Anything really powerful like that.  I can always tell."

"And this morning…"  His voice trailed off.  

"I don't know," she said, wiping her eyes to keep from crying.  "I can't explain it.  I just know something's wrong.  Something's very, very wrong."  

Han rose and walked over to her.  "I'm sorry," he whispered as he kissed her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.  "I'm really sorry." 

"Thanks," she replied sadly, pressing her body into him and covering his hands with hers.  She leaned her head backward and rested it on his shoulder.  "I need to go to the _Falcon_," she whispered back.  "I need to contact Coruscant right away.  I need to find out what I can.  I don't have a choice." 

Han squeezed her tightly and kissed her neck again.  "I'll go with you."

---

Padmé paced at the window of the small conference room in her office suite.  The first session of the Senate after the Vyhrragian devastation of Alderaan was scheduled to begin shortly.  It had been only a few days since Trellem's assassination and Millius' election as Chancellor, and now the crisis had escalated even further.  Despite her urging Millius had departed Coruscant for his homeworld to make a political statement to the Republic and the enemy.  Senator Firren of Sullust, the newly designated chair of the Rules Committee and a close ally of Millius, would preside over the session in his absence.

It would be an historic session indeed.  An hour ago the leadership council of the defense faction had voted unanimously to move a Declaration of War as the first order of business.  It would be the first such motion in the Senate in over four hundred years.  

From the group seated at the table behind her, Padmé heard an anxious voice.  

"What's going to happen now, Mom?" asked Nalé Bellion.  

"Well, first Chairman Firren will recognize one of us to make the motion," explained Sabé calmly.  "Then there will be a debate.  When it ends, there will be a vote on the motion, and if it carries then it means there will officially be a state of war between the Republic and Argis' government."  

"And what's that mean?"  The girl's eyes were filled with apprehension.  "How does that change things?"  

Sabé took a deep breath and sighed.  "It doesn't change very much in the Senate.  Appropriations still have to be voted on to pay for the war.  Trade embargoes or conscription of planetary militias also need a vote.  New recruitment efforts or additional requisitions for the Army and Navy do too.  Really the only significant change is an operational one for the military.  Without a declaration of war, the Senate has to approve all major deployments and engagements, like we have been doing so far.  But now Millius will be able to give orders more quickly and efficiently to let the commanders do what they think is best to defeat Argis as quickly as possible, and they won't have to wait for us to act."  

"Okay," Nalé said softly, but she didn't seem convinced.

"Your mother's right to a certain extent," Bail Organa said gently from across the table.  "Here on Coruscant we won't see much difference.  But many citizens of the Republic have the same reaction you do, Nalé.  Declaring war is a very big deal because of the message it sends.  The entire Republic has the same enemy, and we will be fighting long and hard against them.  There are always little conflicts here and there in the Republic, and the Army and Navy or the Jedi are sent in to settle them, and usually it is over quickly before too many people are killed.  But this is very different.  Argis already has killed many millions of innocent civilians, and now many thousands of our troops are going to be on the front lines doing battle with the Vyhrragians.  This is going to be the first major war the Republic has fought in several centuries.  It's understandable to be worried about what will happen.  I am too."

Sabé shook her head sadly.  "Yes, Bail, you're absolutely right.  I'm so caught up in the Senate's business, I sometimes forget about the big picture."  She looked closely at her daughter.  "We're all worried about the war, sweetheart.  It's a terrible thing that the Republic has to go to war."

"I know," Nalé whispered as her eyes welled up.  "Mostly I'm just really scared for Bryon."  

"We all are," Padmé whispered too.  Unconsciously she reached up her hand to clutch the faded japoor snippet pendant hanging from a thin chain at the base of her throat.  "We all are."  

The heavy pause was broken when Representative Tickis, the young Gungan, spoke up quietly.  "A state of war also permits the use of Jedi in military operations, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," Padmé answered from where she still stood by the window.  She knew every detail of every regulation relating to the authorization of Jedi missions.  "Ordinarily Jedi may be sent only for peacekeeping duties and the Senate must specifically approve any participation in hostilities on behalf of the Republic.  One of the Chancellor's war powers is the authority to request the Jedi Council to deploy Jedi to command or serve alongside military units."  She paused to clear her throat.  "And I am certain Mill will do that."  

"Padmé, mesa wondering something," said Jar Jar.  "This declaration, what is there about the Crusaders of Justice?  Will the Jedi go after them too?"  

"I'm not sure," Padmé frowned.  "I don't remember."

Sabé glanced down at her datapad and retrieved the text of the motion.  "Yes, Jar Jar," she replied after a moment.  "There is a clause in here about the Crusaders.  The Chancellor will be able to use the Jedi against them."

"Good," Jar Jar nodded.  "Mesa relieved."  

"As am I," Bail Organa agreed.  "I am convinced the Crusaders…  Well, the Sith, are playing a greater role in Argis' plans than many in the Senate are willing to admit.  Even some in your faction have not accepted it yet."

"I know," Padmé grumbled.  "But I'm sure this language will not be struck from the text.  If anyone even notices it there."  Then she looked to the far end of the table to Jenny.  "Still no word yet?"

"No, Padmé," her Chief of Staff apologized.  "Not yet." 

"I wonder what's taking so long?"

"This is quite a prize, you know," Sabé reminded her.  "The Senator who introduces the motion will be shown on the Holonet over and over again.  It's of great benefit for reelection.  And for being remembered in history.  Those are things many of our colleagues value greatly."  

"You're right, of course," Padmé sighed.  "I'm just tired of waiting."  

Jenny laughed.  "Ask and you shall receive.  They're hailing you."  When Padmé nodded, Jenny tapped the button to activate the intercom system in the middle of the table.  

"Skywalker and Bellion here," Padmé said with a raised voice to the open microphone.  

"Padmé, it's Rigginall Firren," the deep male voice responded.  "I'll spare you the details."

"Good," she laughed.  "If I had wanted them, I wouldn't have let you all negotiate this without me."  

"I thought so, but I wanted to be sure," he chuckled too.  "Here's the agreement.  Corellia will move the motion.  Dathomir will second.  Bothawui and Duros will also support.  When we reach debate, it will be Padmé, then Kashyyyk, Ansion, and Muunilinst, and then Naboo.  I'm sorry you come last, Sabé, but as you're only Acting Senator we felt it was best for appearance's sake."  

"I agree completely, Rigginall, I truly do," Sabé said firmly.  "No offense taken."  

"You are a good woman and a superb colleague, Senator Bellion," the disembodied voice said.  "We are all very grateful for your understanding."    

Padmé strode to the edge of the table and leaned in toward the microphone.  "How are the numbers?"

"Excellent.  The motion will carry by at least five hundred.  Maybe more."

"Exactly what I wanted to hear, my friend.  I gather we had best be on our way to the chamber, then?" 

"As soon as you can, yes," he answered.  "I'm going to issue the call to assemble in about ten minutes."  

"Very well, Rigginall.  May the Force be with you up there at the podium."

"Thank you, Padmé," he said humbly.  "And also with you."

Jenny tapped off the feed and six seated individuals rose from their chairs.  "Padmé, do you need me to help you with your hair?"  

"No," Padmé shook her head as she ran her fingers through the unbound tresses of long brown hair that hung loose around her shoulders.  "Today's motion speaks for itself.  Anything elaborate will only detract from the issues."

Jenny nodded and headed out toward the outer office to alert the staff that the group was about to depart to the Senate chamber.  

"Jenny will be with me, and Representative Tickis and Nalé will join Sabé in the Naboo pod," Padmé said to Jar Jar and Bail Organa.  "Would either of you like to join me in mine?"  

"I appreciate your offer," Bail Organa smiled, "but I've already agreed to join some dear friends from my old staff in the gallery."

"Mesa come along, then," Jar Jar said exuberantly.  "Mesa be honored."  

"Very good," Padmé nodded.  "No reason to wait.  Let's go."  

A few minutes later Padmé stopped in the open doorway to her pod, smoothed out the front of her elegant blue gown, and took a deep breath.  For once it was a relief to enter the chamber with the desired outcome preordained.  As much as she dreaded the coming war, she knew Argis and the Sith had given the Republic no alternative.  She believed every word she had spoken to the Senate when supporting Millius' candidacy, and now the necessity of all-out war against the Vyhrragians was even greater.  After far too long a delay, the Republic finally would be heading down the road to victory.

She straightened her shoulders, took another deep breath, and strode confidently into the pod with Jenny and Jar Jar following behind her. 

---****

"I'll be there in a second, Chewie," Han hollered down an open mechanical compartment in the _Falcon_'s main hold.  "Keeping working on that stabilizer."  

Quickly he walked through the freighter's cramped passageways to the cockpit, where Leia had gone to see what she could find out about her twin brother.  He poked his head through the open doorway to see her sitting in the pilot's chair, clutching her arms over her chest and rocking back and forth.  "Princess?"  

"I was able to reach my mother," she said quietly, nodding toward the co-pilot's seat.  

He sat down across from her.  "And?"

"She doesn't know anything about Luke.  He's on Tatooine, apparently.  He and Mara were sent there after Corellia."  She took a deep breath and continued.  "My father would probably know more, but he went on a mission too so I can't contact him."

Han raised his eyebrows.  "Your father is on a mission?  Isn't that…"

"Yes," she nodded weakly.  "It must be something really dangerous for him to go without Mara."  

"Yeah."

"There's something else," she sighed.  "The Vyhrragians got a small fleet into the Core.  They attacked Alderaan.  An orbital bombardment.  It's still unclear how many were killed, but it's in the millions."

"The millions?"  Han's heart sank.  That kind of loss of life was incomprehensible.  And in the back of his mind he felt guilty – he should be out there with the Navy, fighting to defeat the enemy.  Not that he regretted a single moment he had been able to spend with Leia.  But the Navy was his career, and in this of all times he ought to be playing his part.  And apparently the morons in Fleet Command weren't doing very well without him.  "How could that happen?  How come we didn't detect that fleet?  I don't get it!" 

"I wish I knew, Han," she whispered.  "I wish I knew."  Leia reached out and took his hands.  "I'm expecting a transmission from the Chancellor.  Apparently he wanted to speak with me about how to proceed from here."  

"Okay," he agreed.  "I'll just go and…"

At that moment the holographic transmitter buzzed.  Leia tapped the button and a small blue image of the Supreme Chancellor wavered into view above the side console.  "Bail, I'm so sorry to hear about the attack.  You have my deepest sympathies," Leia said calmly.  

Han was amazed at how quickly she had regained her composure.  She really was a remarkable woman.  He leaned back in Chewie's over-sized chair to be sure he would be out of view for the outgoing transmission.  

"Thank you, Leia.  It means a great deal to me," Millius smiled sadly.  "Your mother told me you contacted her, and she passed along your coordinates."

"Yes, she told me she would."

"Leia, I need you to end your mission and return to Coruscant.  We will need to organize an immediate response to this brutal crime against civilization.  Your participation is imperative."

Leia shook her head.  "I know you value my opinion, Bail, but my investigation here is not concluded.  I will need at least a few more days to learn all that I…" 

"I'm sure you feel that way, Leia.  But I am not leaving this up to you.  Consider this an Executive Order.  Your mission is hereby terminated and you shall return to the capital forthwith."  

Leia frowned, but she nodded.  "Understood, Your Excellency."  She smashed her palm to the console in frustration to terminate the transmission.  "That settles that."

"I'm sorry," Han said softly as he reached over to massage her shoulders.  "I guess we should go get the things from the camp, huh?"

---

The grim figure in Mandalorian armor checked the charge of his blaster rifle, then turned to the tall man standing next to him.  "They'll be coming by momentarily," Boba Fett explained.  "I need Solo alive.  The rest are none of my concern."

"Sure thing, boss," One-Eye grinned deviously.  He hefted his blaster rifle and patted its barrel.  "We'll take care of that for ya this time, don't worry."  

"You'd better," Fett snarled.  "If Solo dies, so do you."

One-Eye gulped and nodded again.  "Right."

--- 

As he dueled the young man with the blazing scarlet lightsaber, Obi-Wan reached the same conclusion he suspected Anakin had: that the Sith apprentice had been instructed to do nothing more than keep him from interfering with the showdown between Anakin and the Master.  

Obi-Wan's turquoise blade effortlessly parried away a series of strikes from his opponent's laser sword.  The young man was talented; of that he had no doubt.  But he wasn't highly skilled either – certainly he was an inferior fencer to Luke or Mara, and he had shown nothing of the frightening precision demonstrated by the young blonde Sith whom Luke had slain on Xixus half a year ago.  And Obi-Wan doubted the young man was holding back, or at least not very much.  

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and launched a pattern of intricate strikes at the Sith Lord.  The red blade snapped them all aside, but not easily.  Whatever the apprentice's orders were about taking the offensive, no doubt he had been instructed to keep himself alive.  So if his defenses were struggling against that comparatively sedate attack, then he was not much of a danger.  

As he prepared for another offensive, Obi-Wan tried to form a strategy that might enable him to defeat the young man and go to assist Anakin.  

---

Anakin dropped his mind deeply into the Force and took his weapon in both hands.  He didn't even bother unlatching his billowing brown cloak as he charged the Sith Master with his shimmering turquoise laser sword whirling in front of him.  Immediately he put her defenses to the most severe possible test, unleashing a blindingly fast barrage of swings and slices with his blade.  

The evil champion with the face of his lost friend Cimma parried away his assault with ease.  She spun away from him, set her feet, and held her ground as he came at her again.  

Anakin struck high, then low, then high once more.  A driving thrust nearly hit home, but she whirled away at the last instant.  When he lunged forward to attack, she snapped his blade to the side and took the offensive.  

He backtracked a few long strides as his humming weapon arced through the air without conscious thought.  It took only seconds for him to use the momentum of her attacks to bring her blade out of position and grab control of their duel for himself again.  The first strike of his counter-offensive was only inches from severing her leg when it clashed into her blade with an ear-splitting screech.  

---

Darth Barbarus quickly took a deep breath as he fended off the last swing of Kenobi's assault.  Fencing was not his strength, so he was pleased it had been Kenobi and not the Chosen One's son or apprentice who was the other Jedi present.  Even the relatively simple task of ensuring a diversion would have been much more difficult against them.  

He didn't perceive any gaps in the old man's defenses – but he didn't have to kill him.  With a quick step to the side he set up a devious pattern of arcs that just might leave Kenobi out of position.  

But the white-bearded Jedi Master anticipated the technique and parried it away without creating the vulnerability.  Darth Barbarus tumbled into a smooth roll to evade the counter-attack, then sprang to his feet again and swung a strong blow toward Kenobi's neck.  

He felt a jolt crack through his body as his red blade smashed into the Jedi's blue one.  It felt like running face-first into a stone wall.  For someone so old, Kenobi certainly had a lot of fight in him. 

---

Darth Vengous pounded away Skywalker's latest offensive.  He was indeed supremely skilled with the lightsaber, as she had known he would be.  She was holding him in a deadlock for now, and believed she probably could for quite some time.  The longer they fought, however, the less she stood to benefit.  Although at some point she might make a mistake that he could exploit to kill her, the odds of him leaving her an opening were close to zero.  

And besides, she didn't need to win.  She only needed to escape with her life.  

After two quick back-steps to avoid another charging barrage of strikes from the turquoise blade, she set her defenses again and changed her strategy.  "Don't you see, Skywalker?" she sneered.  "You will never defeat me, not even using your greatest talent.  The power of the dark side is too great."

"Now it is you who assumes too much," he chuckled.  "The lightsaber is but an extension of my power in the Force.  It is not the limit of my abilities."  

"You have given up so much as a Jedi," she said grimly.  "Why hamper yourself with the shackles and chains of the Order?  You have more strength in the Force than almost anyone who has ever lived.  Why weaken yourself?  Why give up that power?  It is within you, Skywalker.  All you must do is seize it."  

"Do you really think," he laughed, "that I will be tempted by your words?  That I am not aware of what I am capable of doing, should I choose to do it?  If such idle seductions are the best you have to offer, the Sith have become sorely weak indeed."  

"Someday you will need our power again, Skywalker," she vowed.  "And when that time comes, you will use it.  Mark my words – the darkness within you cannot be vanquished."  

Skywalker did not say a word as he surged forward and swung a two-handed blow of incredible strength straight for her neck.  Darth Vengous ducked backward to safety, then spun away across the enormous empty hangar bay.  

--- 

Stepping aside to avoid another lunging strike from the young man, Obi-Wan noticed that during the course of the duel they had moved nearly halfway across the hangar bay toward its gaping opening to the spaceport beyond.  Outside the last flickers of sunlight rose into the sky and the dark colors of night had begun to drape over the buildings and starships and bustling maintenance droids.  

Obi-Wan perceived a small hole in the Sith's defenses and charged ahead immediately to exploit it.  As soon as he did it closed, and now they were even closer to the open air.  

---

The duel had lasted quite some time now and Anakin could see the tiredness beginning to appear on the Sith Master's face and in her technique.  Even though he was tiring too he saw no evidence that she was capable of defeating him, at least as long as they fought with blades.  

She must have determined the same thing, because a moment later she began to use the Force to supplement her attacks against him.  Without breaking the movement of her blade to defend his attacks and launch offensives of her own, she snatched loose machinery with the Force and flung it at him at high speed.  

He did not lessen his concentration on the duel one iota as he punched the incoming hunks of metal with the Force to deflect them aside.  Loud crashing sounds echoed away into the high ceilings of the hangar bay as the equipment collided with the floor or walls.  

Even with five or six objects hurtling toward him at once Anakin did not weaken.  He continued to repel her lightsaber onslaught while not a single airborne threat came within a half-meter of his body.  

When the last metal crate smashed to the ground, the Sith Master quickly spun apart from the duel and in several long strides took up a position several meters away, almost at the mouth of the hangar bay.  "You will not defeat me, Skywalker.  Not now; not ever.  I have mastered the dark side of the Force, and your insignificant Jedi powers will never be sufficient to overcome them."

In an instant she released her right hand from her laser sword and flicked her palm toward him.  The air erupted with the crackling heat of the blue Sith lightning.  The sparking currents of energy screamed toward him with the raw power of diabolical hatred.  

And yet to Anakin it seemed to come in slow motion.  He shifted his blade into his left hand and raised his palm outward directly into the path of the malicious exercise of the Force.  Even though his face, short gray hair, and Jedi robes were by now drenched in sweat, the flow of the light side of the Force through his body and spirit gave him all the strength he needed.  

As the Sith lightning arrived Anakin concentrated on its flow and drew it all into his palm.  He shaped the brilliant electricity into a rapidly rotating ball of pure energy.  Once the last incoming sparks had been absorbed he pushed with his mind and projected the crackling arcs of lightning directly back at the Sith Master.  

She whipped her scarlet blade in front of her and absorbed all of the dark energy into its shimmering edge.  

Anakin grinned.  "You still have much to learn."   

Just then he heard the distinctive rumbling roar of a starship engine and looked up into the sky outside the hangar bay.  To the side he sensed Obi-Wan's identical reaction.  Swooping into view was a sleek black starship about fifty meters long, a shining dagger of obsidian with no visible armament.  Anakin thought it looked like a heavily modified SoroSuub star yacht.  The cockpit was illuminated – and empty.  As it slowed into a hover midway up the hangar bay's opening, a boarding ramp lowered from the belly of the craft.  

Simultaneously the Sith Master and her young apprentice launched themselves into soaring backflips with the Force.  Before Anakin or Obi-Wan could react they had landed on the edge of the ramp and rushed inside the vessel.  With a mighty growl the engines spewed fire and the ship sped away into the dark nighttime sky.  

Anakin stood in place as Obi-Wan paced over to him.  "I don't know how she summoned it," he sighed when his old friend arrived.  "I just don't know."

"Nor do I," Obi-Wan said quietly.  "And I do not believe I saw the apprentice signal for it either." 

"Something to keep in mind for next time," Anakin frowned.  

"Indeed."  

"But something else troubles me even more."

Obi-Wan put a hand on Anakin's shoulder.  "What's that?"

"Why was she here?"  Anakin took a deep breath to keep his legs from trembling beneath him.  "Why was she on Naboo?  What could she…  why would she…  what could they be planning…"

Obi-Wan nodded understandingly.  "I don't know, Anakin.  I don't know if Naboo is threatened."  

Anakin shook his head and took another deep breath.  "I will need to meditate on everything we have learned here, everything that happened in the duel, before I can even hope to discover that."

"That's true," Obi-Wan agreed calmly.  For a long moment they both stared out into the dark night, drawing on each other's presence to clear their minds and calm their spirits from the exhausting intensity of the fierce combat in which they had just participated.  When they were at peace again, Obi-Wan spoke.  "What do you want to do now?"

"Eat," Anakin laughed.  "I want to eat.  And I know just the place."  

---

The group of six walked quickly along the dirt path of Refugee Camp Two.  With one trip to the _Falcon_ completed, they were returning with the last of their gear before the departure.  Chewie, Lando, and Han each carried a metal crate, while Leia and Sarré tried to remain on guard for any trouble.  With their time at the camp at an end Sarré had insisted on bringing two blaster pistols along, which she had tucked in the back of her belt and hidden beneath the shirt of her azure flight suit.  

While they walked, Threepio continued to yammer on about the mission.  "I must say, for a refugee facility the conditions are remarkably pleasant," he said to no one in particular.  "Ordinarily is quite easy for dirt and grime to interfere with my circuits, but I have encountered no such problem here.  I wonder how they have managed…"

Chewie looked over at Lando and growled.  "Yeah, no kidding," he laughed.  "But I don't think it's physically possible for a droid to be strangled."  

Chewie wroofed another idea.  "Ripping his arms off?  Sure, I'd be in favor of that."  

The Wookiee grumbled and shrugged.  "I suppose that's true," Lando frowned.  "I doubt Senator Organa would appreciate us destroying her droid."  

---

"There they are!  Go, go, go," One-Eye shouted to his four companions.  "I want the reward this bounty hunter is promising, so let's not botch it this time, guys."

With a soaring war cry the five men burst around a tent and opened fire.

---

Han heard the holler and the first shots and glanced back to see the unidentifiable charging enemies about fifty meters behind them.  "Not again!"  

Leia looked at him sharply.  "Again?  This happens to you frequently?"

"Very funny, Princess."

Sarré already had whipped out the blaster pistols and was returning fire with the one in her right hand.  "Save the bickering for the bedroom.  Who wants the other pistol?" 

"Chewie, take this!" ordered Han, heaving his crate atop the one already in the Wookiee's massive arms.  "Alright, give it here."  

Without hesitation Sarré tossed him the extra weapon.  "Leia, run!" she snapped.  "Now!"  

Leia looked like she was considering arguing, but then a blaster bolt sailed past her head.  She spun around and chased after Chewie and Lando, who already had begun to sprint as quickly as they could with their loads.  

Han gave her a moment's head start before he began to run after them, firing over his shoulder as he went.  At his side Sarré was doing the same.  "Wonder how big a bribe they had to pay to get those rifles in here?"  

"How much did we pay to sneak in these pistols?" Leia's blonde friend laughed.  

"Fair point."  Han ducked to avoid an incoming shot.  Bolts were striking precariously close to his feet, and he had seen several get very near to his three friends further ahead.  And the enemies were closing distance rapidly.  "At least their aim isn't very good," he chuckled.  

Sarré smirked.  "I haven't seen you do any better."  

"I'm beginning to see why you and Leia get along so great!"  Without breaking stride he hit one of their pursuers squarely in the chest.  

Her next shot dropped another, almost as if she was daring him to match her accuracy.  "That we do," she winked.  

As blaster bolts slammed into the dirt around them, the _Falcon_ finally came into sight.  "Just a bit longer," he said with relief.  Ahead of him the trio burst up the boarding ramp.  "Go," he said to Sarré.  "I'll hold them off from here."

The handmaiden agreed with a nod and scampered up the ramp too.  A few paces from its base Han sent a flurry of shots at the three remaining opponents, who were by now only about twenty meters away.  When he realized one of them was One-Eye, he concentrated his fire on his earlier attacker.  

  
The freighter's engines revved to fully capacity.  Han was about to run up the ramp when he heard a frantic call.  

"Wait!  Sir, wait!"  It was Threepio.  "Wait for me!"  

"Hurry up, Goldenrod," Han hollered over the sound of the blaster fire, "or you're going to be a permanent resident!"  

When the protocol droid finally ambled into the ship, Han followed on his heels, slammed the controls to raise the ramp, and dashed straight to the cockpit.  

He flew into his seat and grabbed the controls.  "Let's go!"

Chewie growled.  "What do you mean we can't take off?" Han snapped.  "I thought you fixed that!"  

Leia leaned forward from the chair behind him.  "Would it help if I got out and pushed?"

"It might."  Han flicked a few more switches.  "This baby's got a few surprises left in her, sweetheart."  Beneath them a small laser cannon lowered from the belly of the freighter and opened fire.  The three men were nearly within spitting distance by now, so they had to dive and roll to evade the large green bolts from the gun.  

Simultaneously Chewie wrawled triumphantly.  "About time, furball," Han grumbled.  He flicked two switches above his head and grabbed the controls.  With a shudder the _Falcon_ lifted a few feet off the ground, and Han immediately slammed the drive levers downward.  Its landing gear retracting as it climbed, the starship soared into the sky.  

---

"They got away," Boba Fett said grimly from beneath his helmet.  "You failed."

"Hey, we did our best, boss," One-Eye proclaimed boldly.  

"Your best is inadequate," Fett spat.  In an instant he shot the three men dead.  "From now on I do this myself."  With a reluctant shrug he slung his blaster rifle's strap over his shoulder and strode away.  The tracking device he had planted on the _Millennium Falcon_'s hull the night before would give him all the information he needed. 

---

It was just past sundown and Mara knew she had to figure out something quickly.  She was exhausted, and she could sense in the Force that Luke was too.  They were trudging aimlessly through the shadowy streets of Mos Eisley.  It was accomplishing nothing.  The only sensible thing to do at this point was to try to somehow put aside their grief and get some sleep.  As they continued walking, she decided they should stop at the next inn they found.  

After they had hastened away from the scene of the failed rescue with the bodies of their slain friends, Luke had gone to the market to buy some blankets while Mara had stood guard over the corpses in an alley.  They had carried the reverently wrapped bodies far out into the desert.  On a rocky outcropping they had used their lightsabers to ignite the makeshift funeral pyre and had stood by solemnly until the last embers had been carried away in the desert winds.  Then they had trekked back across the scorching sand to the city.  

They were covered in sweat and sand and soot from the pyre.  Their hands were stained with grime and caked with the blood of their friends.  Their muscles ached and they were weak from hunger.  And most of all their spirits were filled with agony that they had not been able to protect their friends.  

Mara noticed a small wooden sign hanging above an opening doorway.  _Camie's Place._  She reached out and took Luke's hand.  "We can't do anything more tonight," she said hoarsely.  "I'll see what they have."

"Okay," he agreed with a tired, sad nod.  These were the first words they had spoken since the pyre had started burning hours ago.  

Hand-in-hand they walked inside.  The young woman behind the low mud-brick wall that served as a reception desk startled visibly at the sight of the two dirtied, dark-clad figures entering the establishment.  After a moment, though, she put on a smile and greeted them.  "How may I help you?"  

"We need…" Mara paused, and Luke squeezed her hand reassuringly.  "We need a room, if you have it."  

"Well, you're in luck, then," the woman grinned.  "It just so happens we have one room left tonight."  

Mara only had been to Tatooine once before, a mission nearly a decade ago with her Master.  She struggled to remember what he had taught her about the customs of commerce here.  And since the proprietress had not proposed a price, she assumed it was her responsibility to start the negotiations.  "How about three hundred?" 

The woman did a poor job of concealing her amazement at the number.  "And how will you be paying?"

Mara reached her free hand to her utility belt and withdrew a datacard.  "I have a transfer chip with Republic credits."  

The woman nodded graciously.  "Credits will do fine."

Then Mara remembered something else.  "And we'll need some clean towels and a basin of water," she said.  Water was scarce on Tatooine, of course, and there was no reason to start being stingy now.  "Another hundred?"

"Certainly," the woman smiled.  "If you give me a few minutes, I'll have those brought in beforehand so you won't have to be disturbed.  And I'll throw in some bread and pallies on the house."  

"Thank you," Mara said.  

"You can wait over there," the woman explained, motioning toward a bench a few paces down a side hallway.  "I'll be back as soon everything is ready."  

As promised, a few minutes later the proprietress showed them to the room.  Mara closed the door behind them and set the manual locks.  Silently they hung their cloaks on the hook by the door.  

The room was small, only a few meters square.  It had a single tiny, open window on the far wall through which the cool nighttime desert breeze was blowing gently.  Beneath the window was a round table an arm's length in diameter; atop it sat the single glowlamp that dimly illuminated the space, the plate containing the foodstuffs, and a pitcher of water with two glasses.  The bed was not very wide, not for two people, but the white linens at least appeared to be fresh.  On the opposite wall was a narrow doorway covered by a hanging sheet, which led to what no doubt was a very primitive lavatory.  And near the door was a pile of a half dozen clean blue towels and a shallow metal basin filled with water.  

"We should clean up first, I guess," she said quietly.  

"Yeah," Luke agreed sadly.  

Mara walked the few paces over to the table, unclipped her lightsaber handle from her belt, and put it down next to the plate.  Luke unclipped his handle too and passed the weapon to her; she set it down next to hers.  

Then she kneeled at the basin and began to wipe down her robes with a towel; Luke did the same.  She couldn't get much of the dirt and grime out of the fabric, but at least it made the attire a bit more presentable.  After a few minutes they had done all they could about the appearance of their clothing.  

She didn't feel clean, not at all.  And she could tell Luke didn't either.  

She knew what she had to do, and her heart started pounding at the idea.  Blinking hard, she tried to convince herself that this was no big deal – while it was far from hedonistic, the Temple did not teach excessive modesty either.  For that matter, over the last dozen years she had been in all manner of states of undress around her Master at various times, and it never once had bothered her.  

But this was different.  This was Luke.  She had feelings for him.  Strong feelings.  Her relationship with her Master was strictly professional.  Her daydreams about Luke most certainly were not.  

But she had no choice.  

Still kneeling on the floor and without saying a word, Mara reached down to her utility belt and took it off.  She arranged it carefully on the floor, then removed the black outer layer of her robes.  With a quick glance to the side she saw Luke undressing from his indigo robes too, and in the Force she could sense that he was as unsure and anxious as she was.  She shrugged off the underlying layers of crimson robes from her shoulders and pulled them out from around her legs.  After folding them neatly and putting them down with the rest, she looked down at herself.  Her sleeveless white top was soaked through with sweat, as were her white shorts.  

She nearly sprang into the air when Luke spoke.  

"Here," he said simply.  

She looked over to see him offering her the bar of soap the proprietress must have included with the towels.  His shorts and sleeveless shirt clung to his skin too.  The sight made her heart skip a beat.  "Thanks," she nodded.  

First she thoroughly washed her hands and face, then wiped them clean with a damp towel.  She wordlessly offered the soap to Luke, who followed suit.  Without speaking they took turns as they cleaned their arms and legs.  The entire time there were furtive glances at one another, but they scrupulously avoided making eye contact.  

When it was her turn again, Mara balked.  She could sense a glimmer of expectation emanating from Luke, and it made her feel incredibly self-conscious.  She turned away from him and began to clean beneath the front of her shirt.  The burst of his disappointment in the Force was palpable.  She passed the soap behind her back to him before she wiped down with the towel.  

"Do you mind," he asked softly, "if I just…"  

She looked over her shoulder to see him indicating that he was going to remove his shirt.  "No," she gulped.  "Go ahead."  

"Thanks," he said.  

She tore her eyes away.  He wanted her to look at him; she knew he did.  And she wanted desperately to look at him, but something was holding her back.  She was doubting herself and her feelings for him.  And, too, his feelings for her.  They hadn't talked about their relationship – if there even was one – at all, and now their grief might be clouding their better judgment.  Or it might be making them see a truth that they had been denying.  Her heart was pounding out of control and the urge to spin around was almost overwhelming.  She didn't know what to do.  

He cleared his throat.  "Do you want me to get your back?"  

Somehow her heart found a way to speed up even more.  She was too tired to make any effort to conceal her emotions from him, so she knew he could perceive in the Force exactly what she was feeling.  "Um… yeah…" she sputtered.  "I guess so."  

She trembled when his fingers clasped the bottom of her shirt and pushed it up her back to her shoulders.  Very tenderly he began to run his hand across her skin, coating her with a thin layer of the suds.  Her breathing quickened and a shiver ran down her spine.  Only a few seconds later, though, his hand finished its gentle path and pulled away.  Then she felt the moist towel run up and down and his hands tug her shirt into place again.  

Mara took a deep breath and turned around.  And stared.  Luke's hair was hanging down over his eyes.  His bare chest glistened from its remaining moisture.  The shadows cast on his body by the dim glowlamp defined the toned muscles of his arms and legs.  The image left almost nothing to her imagination.  

She swallowed hard.  "I'll get you," she offered.  

"Thanks."  He shifted on his knees and faced his bare back toward her.  

Her hands were shaking as she lathered them up.  She had to take a few deep breaths, and even then she was far from calm.  Finally she forced herself to place her hands on his shoulders.  As gently as she could she slid her fingers along his skin, massaging the soap over his muscles.  When she reached his lower back she didn't want to stop touching his skin.  But she did.  She used his towel to wipe him clean.  

They stood and faced each other again.  Neither one said a word as they walked to the table and began to devour the bread and pallies.  When the last morsels were gone, they simply stood there.  

The distraction of eating had restored a measure of composure to her emotions, and Mara was peering calmly out the tiny window at the stars when Luke took her hand a long while later.  "I'm sorry I failed today," he said softly.  

"No, you didn't," she insisted.  "You did the best you could, but… they just wouldn't listen."  With her free hand she wiped her eyes.  "Besides, this is all my fault.  You were right, Luke.  I should have listened to you."

"Don't think that way, Mara," he chastised her firmly as he gently squeezed her hand.  "If we hadn't gone after them, they would have been killed anyway.  You were right about that, I know you were.  We had to do what we did.  But I should have been strong enough to protect them."  

"No, Luke," she said.  "No.  I won't let you blame yourself for this."  

He smiled weakly.  "And how do you plan to stop me?"

She chuckled a little.  "I don't know.  But trust me, I'll think of something."  

"Oh, that's very intimidating," he chuckled too.  

Mara suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion shudder through her body.  "I'm tired," she whispered, "I need to lie down now."  

"Okay," he agreed.  With only the slightest bit of guidance in his grasp he led her to the bed.  

She let him crawl in first and tried her best to arrange herself next to him.  First she elbowed him in the ribs.  Then she kicked him in the shin.  After she nearly poked him in the eye, he inadvertently pinned her hair underneath his arm.  Finally they ended up lying on their sides, face to face, one of his arms wrapped around her back and one of hers tucked around his waist.  

She looked deeply into his blue eyes.  He was suffering greatly over their loss.  He was concerned for the future; no doubt this disaster of a mission would be a major setback to standing for the Trials.  He was anxious about the impending war.  Somewhere inside she knew he remained worried about Leia.  And yet as he gazed back at her he seemed to be at peace.  And her heartbeat was thundering in her chest again.  

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I'm so sorry."

With her free hand she reached up and brushed his long sandy-brown hair away from his eyes.  "I know you are," she replied soothingly.  "I'm sorry too."  

His palm pressed against her back through her shirt while his other hand came to rest on her neck just beneath her ear.  "It's going to be okay," he whispered.  "It's going to be okay."  

In the warmth of his embrace she believed him.  She let her fingertips slowly caress the bare skin of his lower back, and he responded by very lightly stroking her neck with his.  Without breaking their intense gaze she ran her fingers up to his shoulders and down again, and he slipped his hand beneath her shirt to begin caressing the skin of her back too.  Without realizing she was doing it she pressed her body against his and felt him pull her even closer.  

"Mara…"

"Luke…"  

She wasn't sure if he kissed her or she kissed him or they kissed each other at the same time.  But it didn't really matter.  The delicate sensation of his lips on hers was the most wonderful thing she had felt in her life.  

And suddenly she no longer felt tired at all.  


	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

In the clearing in the swamp between Master Yoda's small hut and the temporary durafabric tent she had erected for herself, Danaé had her left palm on the ground and held her body vertically in the air.  Her right arm was extended parallel to the ground, her palm facing the treetops above.  Master Yoda stood on the soles of her boots, supervising her meditative trance.  To the side three metal crates and Artoo hovered a few feet off the ground where she was suspending them in the mist with the Force.  Also using the Force she directed the blood in her body to maintain its usual flow despite the fact that she was upside down.  

Even with her eyes closed, Danaé perceived all of this in the energy field flowing around her.  As she had since her arrival, she reveled in the sensation of the teeming quantities of life in the bog.  The living Force was incredibly powerful here, and that made her meditations remarkably easier.  

Yoda's voice intruded into her serene repose.  "See through the Force often do you?"  

"Not really," she answered calmly.  "I have difficulty using the unifying Force that way." 

"Difficult it is for you, hmm?  And give up so easily you do?"

"I just get frustrated," Danaé sighed.  "And yes, I do give up." 

"Inherited this honesty from your mother you did," Yoda laughed.  "Remember it in your father at your age I do not."  

"I'll take your word for it."

"Stretch into the Force, young Padawan.  Focus not on living or unifying.  Simply stretch into the Force."

"Yes, Master Yoda," she agreed.  "I will do my best."  

Danaé opened her mind to the energy swirling around her in the swamp, pulling its currents through her body and absorbing its strength into her spirit.  Soon she was focused only on the flow of the Force itself, having forgotten her physical body or the levitating objects or the diminutive Master standing on her feet.  Completely immersed in the patterns of life energy, she released her doubts about her ability to see through the Force and willed images appear in her mind.  

She knew the Masters often probed forgotten memories and remembered deceased friends in their meditations as a means to stay attuned to their paths in life and the individuals they had become.  Although she did not seek anything in particular, with a burst of concentration she sought the past in the ether. 

_She slowly approached her sister, who was gazing out the wide windows of a small anteroom in the __Royal__Palace__ in Theed.  Uncharacteristically Leia was fidgeting and pacing, more nervous than Danaé ever had seen her.  Leia's white dress shimmered in the bright Naboo sunlight streaming over the plummeting waterfalls and through the glass to warm the stone floor beneath their feet.  _

_Danaé placed her hand gently on Leia's arm.  "You'll be fine," she soothed.  "Pretend it's just another appearance in the youth program or the __Royal Court__."_

_Leia continued to pace.  "I wish I could," she sighed.  "I wish I could.  But I know I'm going to forget the vows.  I memorized them a hundred times, and I know I'll still forget them and Jarren will remember his and I'll look like an idiot in front of everybody."_

_"No, you won't," Danaé said calmly, suppressing her chuckle at her sister's apprehensive ramblings.  "Because I memorized them with you, and if you forget, I'll just project them into your mind to help you remember.  No one will know."_

_Leia grinned broadly.  "Really?  You'll do that for me?"  _

_"Of course I will," Danaé smiled.  "Of course I will."_  

The scene disappeared in her consciousness before she could see any more.  Wistfully Danaé gave a mental shrug and opened her mind to the Force again.  This time she sought a vision from her future.  

_She was in the __Lake__Country__ of Naboo, walking up a grassy lawn toward a villa at the top of a hill.  She couldn't see her, but she felt her mother's presence following a few paces behind her.  Her eyes studied the way the shining sun lit the stone walls of the building and brightened the green leaves and grass around her.  The wonderful aroma of the flowers made her smile.  _

_She looked down again when she heard the calls.  _

_"Auntie Danaé!  Auntie Danaé!" shouted a young girl about six years old.  Her brown hair was tied back in a braid that bobbed as she ran forward, and a small lightsaber handle flapped from the belt of her youngling Jedi robes.  _

_"Grandma!  Grandma!" cried the young boy with her.  He had the short haircut of a male youngling and wore the same attire as his twin sister.  _

_"Come here, you two," she heard her mother say from behind her._  

And then the new scene vanished too.  

This was more success than she ever had experience before, so Danaé held her focus and continued.  It took her only a moment to realize how many days it had been since she last had seen or even spoken to anyone in her family.  Deliberately she surged out her perceptions to search for them.  

As soon as she began she felt a chill run up her spine.  

_She saw Luke and heard a yell of unimaginable pain.  _

_She saw Leia and felt heart-rending terror.  _

_She saw Bryon and watched him spit up blood.  _

_She saw her father and…_

An incoherent scream of agony and fear escaped her mouth as her concentration failed.  Artoo squealed frantically as he toppled in the air and crashed to the ground along with the three crates.  Her body collapsed into a heap on the mud.  And Yoda fell to the ground next to her with an undignified thump.  

"Fine I am," the Jedi Master said as he sat up and wiggled his long, pointy ears.  He peered closely into her eyes.  "Fine you are not."

"Master Yoda," she rasped when she found her breath again, "what was that?"  

Yoda grimaced and looked sadly into her eyes.  "It is the future you see.  Soon.  Yes, very soon."

Danaé pulled herself up into a sitting position and clutched her knees to her chest.  "I have to go," she said after a long pause.  "My family needs me.  I have to go to them."  

"Hmm," Yoda sighed.  He poked at the mud with the end of his gimer stick.  "How feel you?  Ready are you, to face what may come to you when you return to the galaxy beyond this swamp?  Hmm?"

She let her eyes wander through the misty bog around them.  A series of deep breaths cleared her mind and banished the lingering pain of the final vision.  "Yes," she declared finally.  "Yes, I am ready."  

"Certain are you, hmm?"

"No," she admitted calmly.  "I'm not certain.  But I feel more ready than I have ever felt before."  

"Enough that is," Yoda said quietly.  Using his stick for balance he rose to his feet.  "Depart quickly you must.  Your gear to the ship we must take.  Help you I will."  

Danaé stood as well, towering over the solemn Jedi Master.  "Thank you, Master Yoda."

---

"You don't think we should have commed ahead?" asked Obi-Wan skeptically.  

"Trust me, old man," Anakin winked.  "It's more fun this way."  

"Just for once," Obi-Wan sighed, "I'd like to go somewhere without you insisting on making it fun, or amusing, or entertaining, or…"

"I get the message, _Master_," Anakin chuckled.  "I'll keep it in mind for next time."  

As the cool nighttime air grew gloomier around them, they finally arrived at their destination on the narrow cobblestone street between the stone houses.  Anakin led the way up the stairs and rang the door chime.  

After brief pause the elegant wooden door swung open to reveal a smiling young woman a few years older than Leia with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes.  "Uncle Ani!" she exclaimed in delight.  "Uncle Ani!  I can't believe it's you!" 

"Hello, Ryoo," he smiled, pulling her into a warm embrace.  

Within his grip she turned back over her shoulder and hollered inside.  "Everyone!  Everyone!  Uncle Ani's here!  And he brought Uncle Obi-Wan with him!"  

With Ryoo dragging them by their hands, Anakin and Obi-Wan walked into the sitting room of the Naberrie home.  Ruwee and Jobal were waiting for them in the open doorway, with Pooja and Sola right behind.  After a round of happy embraces and cheerful greetings they moved toward the chairs.  

Then Pooja burst right up to Anakin and held out her left hand.  "Look, Uncle Ani," she all but squealed in excitement, her long hair bouncing in time with the spring in her step.  "See my ring?  Isn't it gorgeous?"  

Anakin gently took his niece's hand and held it closer to his face.  "It's lovely, dear, it really is," he smiled.  "I guess that Lars boy has a taste in gems almost as impressive as his taste in women."  

Pooja blushed fiercely and looked down at the floor.  "Thank you," she said shyly.  

Anakin noticed the quizzical expression on Obi-Wan's face.  _Owen and Beru's eldest, Cliegg.  Named for his grandfather_, he sent telepathically through the Force.  _They've been a couple at least three years.  Maybe more.  I forget._  Over twenty years ago Anakin and Padmé had persuaded Owen and Beru to sell the moisture farm on Tatooine and move to Naboo.  Although it had taken some time to become adjusted to having left behind the only life they had ever known, the verdant planet now suited the Lars family just fine.  Owen had risen to become manager of repair and mechanics facilities at the Theed spaceport, Beru had worked hard to earn her position a highly regarded advisor in the Royal Court, and their three children had grown up as good friends of the Naberries, the Skywalkers, and the Bellions.  

Obi-Wan nodded.  "I'm delighted for you, Pooja," he told her gently.  "How long ago did you receive this?"  

"Oh, it's been almost a month now," she said.  

Anakin frowned.  "I wonder when Padmé was planning to tell me?"

Obi-Wan grinned mischievously.  "Are you certain she didn't?"

Anakin tried to glower at his old friend, but with everyone laughing uproariously at his expense he couldn't hold the face and laughed too.  

When the mirth finally subsided, Jobal reached out a hand and briefly took Anakin's arm.  "We didn't know you were on Naboo, Anakin.  This is quite a surprise."  

"It was a secret mission," Obi-Wan said quickly, always adept at smoothing over difficult explanations.  "We were searching for information of interest to the Order and it was imperative our presence here not be known."  

Ruwee nodded knowingly.  "Your ship is docked at the Palace, then?" 

"Yes," Anakin replied.  "We learned what we needed earlier tonight," he continued, playing off Obi-Wan's setup, "so we will be leaving in the morning." 

"And you knew better than to go home without seeing us first," Ryoo laughed.  

"Indeed," Anakin winked.  "I have your aunt to account to, after all."  

"You look exhausted, Anakin," said Jobal tenderly.  "Have you eaten dinner?"  

Anakin smiled and ran his fingers through his short gray hair.  "Well, actually…"

---

Hours later Anakin awoke to the persistent beeping of his emergency-frequency comlink.  It was a sound he always dreaded.  The last time it had brought good news was almost twenty years ago, when Padmé had signaled him that she was going into labor with Bryon.  

He didn't need any premonitions in the Force to have a bad feeling about it.  

Climbing reluctantly out of bed, he found the palm-sized device on the small desk in the guest bedroom.  For a long moment he couldn't bring himself to look at it.  It might be the Temple.  Or Leia.  Or Mara.  Or Danaé.  Before he could panic any further he held the tiny screen up to his eyes.  

"Padmé," he whispered.

Taking care to muffle his hurried footfalls with the Force, Anakin rushed to a small room in the back of the basement of the house.  Ever since Padmé's days as Queen Amidala of Naboo the Naberries had maintained a secured comlink connection to the Royal Palace, which in turn could send unbreakably encrypted signals anywhere in the galaxy.  After the viewscreen hummed to its activated state, he entered his wife's code and waited.  He knew she would see from the transmission identifier that he was contacting her from her parents' home.

When the tiny image of her face appeared, it was obvious she was severely distressed.  "Ani?"

"Yes, angel.  I'm here."    

The alarmed words flew from her mouth in a nearly incomprehensible deluge.  "Awful." "Scared." "Convoy." "On the move." "Bryon." "Scared."

He took a deep breath.  "Slow down, angel," he said as reassuringly as he could.  "Please."

"I'm sorry," she hiccupped.  "It's just awful, Ani.  I'm so scared."  She wiped her eyes.  "The Vyhrragian fleet, the one that hit Alderaan… it's… it's… it's found Mill's convoy, Ani.  They're attacking it.  Live on the Holonet, Ani.  Bryon's there, protecting Mill.  The battle's not even over and… how will we… it will take so long to get word from them and I… I can't handle this, Ani.  I need you."

"I'm here, angel," he said quietly.  "I'm here."  For a brief moment he closed his eyes and surged his awareness out into the Force.  "I would know if anything happened, angel.  I promise.  If I don't sense anything happen, that means he's okay."  

"Keep your focus on him, Ani, please.  I have to know.  I have to know he's okay."

"I will, angel.  I will."  He clasped his hands in his lap to prevent himself from drumming nervously on the table.  "There was something more?"

"Yes," she said.  "Reports are coming in from the front.  Argis is readying an invasion fleet to conquer Gimna 3.  They're already encroaching on the system and more warships are on the move."

"At the same time the Chancellor's convoy is attacked," Anakin frowned.  "That can't be a coincidence."  

"I don't think so either," Padmé shook her head.  "I have to contact Leia on Pharenniol, Ani.  We have to get her away from there.  We have to get her to safety."

"Angel, I need wake Obi-Wan and then I need to go to the Palace," he said calmly.  "I need to be able to use multiple feeds at once, and I can't do that here.  Once I'm there, we'll figure out what to do about everyone, okay?  About Leia, and Danaé, and Luke and Mara.  And I'll find out about Bryon too, I promise, okay?  Promise me you won't do anything until I'm there.  Please?  Promise me?"

"I promise, Ani," she sobbed.  "I'll be waiting."

"Twenty minutes," he said.  "I'll see you again in twenty minutes."  

When she nodded, he deactivated the transmitter and charged from the room as fast as he could run.  

---****

The emergency alarms on the Republic cruiser _Optimus_ blared as Bryon ran down a corridor with his personal detail of a dozen Special Forces soldiers on his heels.  Their black battle armor rattled and their boots thumped against the floors.  Bryon lifted up the rounded black face shield of his helmet and flipped down the small comlink microphone.  "Bridge, this is Major Skywalker.  I need a status report."

"An enemy transport used a fighter escort to penetrate the main docking bay," reported a grim male voice.  "Enemy units have discharged and are spreading out into the interior."  

"Can we expect reinforcements from the convoy?"

"Negative, Major," the voice said.  "The enemy fleet is considerable.  All other warships are engaged with them.  We're on our own."  

"Roger, Bridge.  Skywalker out."  Bryon took a deep breath and kept running.  He flicked a switch and addressed the soldiers under his command.  "Pryzill, fortify the stateroom.  Krannar, take position in the approach corridor.  Graff, search and destroy."  His three subordinates replied affirmatively.   

Bryon knew he had to make a decision quickly about where he should go.  There were two hundred Special Forces troops on the cruiser, and he had only a few with him.  They wouldn't make much difference to the combat positions, but he could make a difference as a commander.  So he decided to head toward Will's units.  

After only a few more strides the utterly disorganized, frantic updates began to spill out over the comlink feed.  "Brownshirts, sector Delta Four."  "Brownshirts, sector Bravo Two."  "Brownshirts, sector Alpha Three."  "Brownshirts, sector Delta Three."  

Bryon couldn't find a pattern in the announced locations, so he changed course toward the closest one, Delta Three.  He quickened his pace and surged around a corner into another hallway.  

The enemy already was there.

Blocking their passage was a formation of over twenty soldiers wearing tan body armor over green fatigues.  They were set up in an infantry attack formation, some men kneeling and others staggered behind them.  In the center of the group stood two tall figures dressed in black tunics and pants, black boots and gloves, and black cloaks with hoods drawn up to conceal their faces – and holding ignited red lightsabers in their hands.  

Instantly the brownshirts opened fire on Bryon and his men.  

Bryon dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, dodging blaster bolts as he jammed the shield down over his face, whipped his blaster rifle's strap off his shoulder, and sprang up into a firing crouch.  Around him the soldiers in his detail dove into similar evasive tumbles and took up defensive positions when they rose again.  

After only a few seconds it was clear to Bryon that they would have to retreat.  Although several brownshirts on the edges had been taken out, the two Sith Lords were repelling incoming blaster fire with their lightsabers.  It would be impossible to hit the brownshirts they were defending – much less to take out the Sith themselves.  Byron fired a few more shots at the outer brownshirts, then waved his hand to signal the pullback.  

The Special Forces soldiers ran backwards around the corner again with rifles blazing.  Only eight of them made it out.  

Bryon spoke quickly into his comlink.  "Attention all units, two Sith Lords at Delta Three.  Repeat, two Sith Lords at Delta Three."  

"Major, this is Knight Syasin," said one of the four Jedi in the Supreme Chancellor's security detail.  "What do you wish for us to do?"  

"Hold the stateroom," Bryon ordered.  "Hold the stateroom.  I'll try to cut them off."  

Looking over his shoulder he saw that the Sith and their brownshirts had not pursued them.  His guess was that they intended to assassinate Chancellor Millius, which would make the stateroom their destination.  As he ran with his surviving seven soldiers, he reached down to his belt for the concussion grenades.  All four still were there.  If he hurried, he might be able to intercept the Sith's group before they reached the approach hallway.  

He wasn't sure whether the grenades would harm the Sith, but at the very least they could take out the brownshirts around them.  And then the four Jedi would have to do their job.  

---

In the richly appointed stateroom of the cruiser Supreme Chancellor Bail Millius stood at the wide viewport, watching the Vyhrragian fleet engage with the Republic Navy warships in his convoy.  The massive cannons from both sides sent a flurry of shots between the vessels.  The convoy outnumbered the enemy, but already two ships from each side had been destroyed.  All this only an hour before they would have arrived at Alderaan. 

From near the door a sudden order filled the room.  "Take up positions," First Sergeant Pryzill directed the thirty Special Forces troops set up in four rows to fire out into the hallway.  "They're almost here."

One of the Jedi put his hand on Millius' shoulder.  "We will protect you, Your Excellency."

Millius sighed.  He should have listened to Padmé.  "Yes, I know," he said quietly.  "May the Force be with you."  

---

Just as Bryon thought they might reach the position in time, they swung around another corner to face twenty more brownshirts.  These were not set up in formation, though, and there were no Sith Lords with them.  

Without waiting for instructions the seven soldiers behind him opened fire.  Bryon raised his blaster rifle to his shoulder and began to shoot as well, taking down a brownshirt with every pull of the trigger.  After only a few seconds all the enemies were dead.  But so were another two of the men in Bryon's detail.  The six of them regrouped in the hallway while Bryon reactivated his comlink, which had switched off during the quick skirmish.  

All he heard were frantic screams and panicked yells.  The stateroom was under attack.  Krannar's position had been overrun, and Pryzill's men were shooting blindly down the hallway toward the approaching brownshirts.  Elsewhere in the cruiser Will Graff had six separate squads hunting down other groups of brownshirts, and three of those squads had come under heavy fire and were being decimated.  The siege of the _Optimus_ was turning into a rout.  

"Come on," Bryon barked to his men.  "We have to get to the stateroom."

---

Darth Malus whirled his shimmering ruby laser sword in front of him with precision gained from many years of experience.  The dozens of Republic Army soldiers inside the stateroom had no chance of hitting him with their bolts.  Slowly he advanced on them until he stood just outside the door.  

Behind him he sensed Darth Delicti arrive at his shoulder, her red lightsaber deflecting many of the incoming shots right back at the shooters.  

Without losing an iota of concentration on his defense, he turned his head around and scowled.  "We should have killed the Skywalker boy.  It was the perfect opportunity."

"I agree," she shrugged.  "But orders are orders.  Master Vengous foresaw this.  She has a good reason to delay the inevitable.  I am certain of it." 

"You are no doubt correct."  Then he tipped his head toward the open doorway and flashed a wicked grin.  "Ladies first."

She grinned back with equally depraved delight.  "Well, if you insist…"  

---

Bryon and his five soldiers nearly had reached the stateroom when yet another group of brownshirts appeared in their path.  

"Blast it!" he yelled in anguish.  "How can there be so many?"  

He shot dead three of the enemies, and the others behind him got seven more.  The remaining six brownshirts took advantage, however, and sent a torrent of blaster bolts at them.  Before he could get out of the way, Bryon felt one bolt slam straight into the breastplate of his black battle armor.  The force of the strike knocked the wind from his lungs, but the armor held and the laser blast did not reach his body beneath.  A split-second later another bolt struck his left shoulder guard, spinning him around like a child's toy.  And then a third shot struck him in the back as he spun, driving him headfirst to the floor with a vicious smack.  Through all of it he never lost his grip on his rifle.  

He lay there, unable to move.  Above him he heard the screech of blaster fire continue.  There were screams of pain as more men fell; friend and foe he could not distinguish.  After a few more seconds he sucked air into his lungs again and compelled his legs to power themselves.  He lunged upright and whirled around to face what was left of the firefight.  With a single squeeze of his trigger he shot the last brownshirt full in the face.  

Only one man from his detail was still alive, and he had a badly wounded leg.  "Major?"  

"Stateroom," he rasped, still struggling to breathe and trying to concentrate as his muddled thoughts swam around inside his skull.  He and the sole survivor staggered hurriedly down the hallway.  He tapped the comlink in his helmet but it only buzzed with static; it must have broken when his head hit the floor.  After several dozen paces they reached the hallway's end and turned to the right.  

The scene in front of them was horrific.  Piles of corpses in the Special Forces' black battle armor littered the passageway, interspersed with a large number of slain brownshirts.  As they stepped gingerly through the carnage, Bryon did not see anyone alive.  After another few steps his gaze scanning the ground caught the sight of Krannar's dead body; it was bent in an unnatural direction at the waist and the breastplate of his armor was riddled with punctures from blaster bolts.  

They nearly had reached the door to the stateroom when a shot rang out.  Bryon spun to see that one of the fallen brownshirts was alive after all and had risen on an elbow to shoot his last companion.  His loyal subordinate slumped to the ground, wisps of smoke rising from a hole at the base of his spine in the gap between two plates of armor covering his back.  

Without a word Bryon raised his rifle and shot the prone brownshirt in the head.  Again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  

Bryon turned and hobbled forward into the stateroom.  More piles of dead Special Forces troops and brownshirts filled the entrance to the elegant salon.  His feet shuffled beneath him and he nearly fell.  He looked down to see if he had tripped over a corpse when he realized there was a searing pain in his left shoulder.  A quick glance revealed that the shot had shattered the armor.  Although the laser had not hit his skin, shards of the armor were protruding from his flesh and blood was running down the black armor on his arm.  The indescribable pain and the sight of the injury nearly overwhelmed his still-fuzzy mind.  

He gritted his teeth and forced his feet to move again.  As he staggered forward he saw Pryzill among the slain soldiers, killed by a blaster bolt through his helmet.  Bryon moved through the rest of the sickening slaughter into the clear floor of the main space of the stateroom.  When he reached the rear of the salon he saw what he had feared.  

Charred scarring from lightsaber blades marred the floor, ceiling, and walls, as well as the broken furniture strewn in disarray.  Clearly a duel of massive scope and ferocity had been waged in the stateroom over the course of several minutes.  And its outcome was plain to see – the bodies of the four Jedi lay scattered on the lush teal carpets, each slain by a single lightsaber wound through the torso.  

Behind them was the identically impaled corpse of the Supreme Chancellor.  

"No," Bryon stammered.  "No.  No."  At that moment his body gave out.  Still not recovered from the trauma of brutally striking the floor, his brain was overpowered by the agony of the shoulder wound.  As he felt himself losing consciousness he looked out the viewport into the stars, and he thought only of his last conversation with his mother.  "I'm sorry," he gasped.  

Then everything went black.

---

She awoke to the sound of Sarré's bare feet thumping on the metal floors as her handmaiden burst out of the small room containing their bunks.  Leia rubbed the sleep from her eyes and blinked repeatedly.  The _Millennium Falcon_ was speeding through hyperspace toward Coruscant, and from the tiredness still clouding her mind she guessed she probably had been asleep only a few hours.  Sitting up in bed, she found her hairbrush and began to untangle her long brown tresses.  

Sarré returned a few minutes later with a medpac in her arms.  "Sorry," she apologized hoarsely.  "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Leia smiled warmly.  

"I barely made it to the refresher in time," Sarré groaned.  She set the medpac on her bed and stood over it as she began her search.  "I must have gotten something from the food in the camp; I never did trust their sanitary treatments.  As soon as I figure out what it is I'll take the meds for it."  

Watching her friend digging through the medpac like a crazed gundark, Leia had a sudden flash of insight.  The mood swings.  The overreactions.  The inability to sleep.  The unpredictability.  And now vomiting?  

"Where is that blasted tester?" growled Sarré.  A large pile of items already had accumulated on her bunk.  

"Slow down," Leia soothed as she sprang to her feet.  "Sit.  I'll get it."  

Sarré flashed an angry glare, but then she immediately subsided and sat down next to the medpac.  "Okay."  

Leia checked quickly through the pile, didn't see the scanner she wanted, and turned to the medpac.  After only a few seconds she found the requisite device.  It activated with a whir, and Leia found the necessary setting with a quick tap on the small display screen.  "All set," she said gently.  "Hold out your hand."  

Sarré complied, extending her left hand for the blood sample.  She flinched as the scanner's tiny needle pricked her finger, withdrew a few drops of blood, and applied a thin layer of spray bandage to seal the minute wound.  

Leia stood next to the seated Sarré while the scanner hummed.  Neither of them said anything.  

Finally the device beeped.  Sarré looked up.  "So, what do I have?"  

"Nothing," Leia said.  "It's morning sickness."  

Sarré nearly hit her head on the upper bunk when she shot to her feet.  "That's impossible!  Run it again!  It can't be right!  It can't be right!"  

Leia sighed.  There was no mistake – of that she was absolutely certain.  But to appease her friend she had the scanner double-check the analysis.  

Sarré was pacing back and forth in the dimly lit cabin, wringing her hands and muttering anxious denials under her breath.  "It can't be.  We're not ready.  It can't…  No, it just…  No…  please…"  Finally the device beeped again.  "It's something else, right?  Right?"  

"No, Sarré," Leia shook her head.  "You're pregnant."  After tossing the scanner gently to the bed next to the medpac, she slowly stepped over and pulled her best friend into a fierce embrace.  Neither of them tried to hold back their tears.  

A few minutes later they sat side-by-side on Leia's bed.  Leia had been thinking everything over while they cried, and she was pretty sure she had figured it all out.  "Sarré?"

"Yes?"

"I need to ask you a few things.  You're going to have questions, but I want you to hold off with them until I finish.  Will you promise me that?"

"Yes.  I promise." 

"You and Bryon got married when you were on Naboo, didn't you?"  

Sarré's eyes bugged out, but she restrained herself as she had pledged.  "Yes."

"But you didn't take the counter-injection."

"No, I didn't.  How could this happen?  We're not ready yet!  This isn't supposed to happen!"

Leia sighed and pulled her traumatized friend into a hug again.  "I'm getting to that.  Sarré, I need to ask you something very personal."

"Okay," Sarré replied a little reluctantly.  

Leia knew her little brother.  She knew the way he thought and felt and acted.  And she was confident she knew what he inadvertently had done.  "After you were married, and you…  well…  celebrated…  Bryon said something afterwards, didn't he?  While you were still in bed?  Something like, 'You're going to be a wonderful mother.'  Right?"  

Sarré jolted back and gasped loudly.  Her face was completely pale.  "That's _exactly_ what he said."  She started to tremble.  "How did you know?"  

"Because that's what I said to Jarren."  

Sarré suddenly sat forward again.  "What?" 

Leia didn't say anything.  She couldn't speak.  It took all her concentration to hold back the next wave of building tears.  

"Leia?  What are you talking about?  You were never preg…"  Sarré stopped abruptly and stared into Leia's eyes.  "You were.  You _were_!  Why didn't you tell me?"  

Leia closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.  "I can't believe Daddy didn't warn Bryon!  What was he thinking?  He wasn't thinking!  That's the problem.  Blast it!"  

"Leia," said Sarré gently, "I'm really confused right now, and I think you need to tell me everything from the beginning."  

"I'm sorry," Leia sighed without opening her eyes.  "You're right."  She took a deep breath and started.  "Before Jarren left for Gimna 3, we had a… well… amorous night together.  That night in bed I told him that he would be a wonderful father.  I was still on the injections then, and we talked about going off them when he got back.  I didn't think about it again for weeks.  Then one night after dinner Daddy pulled me aside."

Sarré nodded understandingly.  "He sensed it."

"Yes, he did.  He asked if I'd been to the doctor lately.  When I said no, he said I should.  I got pretty frantic thinking something was really wrong, and the only way he could calm me down was to tell me what he had perceived in the Force."  Leia choked down a sob.  "It was the next morning we found out Jarren had been murdered.  And I…  I…"

"You miscarried," Sarré whispered, stunned by the realization as it hit her.  "So that's why…  The first two days you handled your grief so well.  I thought you were going to make it.  And then you just lost it.  You were inconsolable.  I remember it so clearly.  You had to be sedated for weeks.  And it was because you'd lost the baby too."  

"Yes."  Leia opened her eyes, and her tears flowed freely.  "Yes."  It took great effort to regain her voice.  "Daddy's the only person in the galaxy who ever knew.  I never made it to the doctor."  She shook with sobs.  "I never told Mom.  It would have killed her."

"Why didn't you tell me, Leia?  Why?"

"I couldn't.  I couldn't.  I just couldn't."

Now Sarré was the one pulling Leia into an embrace.  "It's okay.  It's okay.  I forgive you."  

"She was a girl," Leia confessed quietly after a minute.  "I was going to have a daughter.  A Jedi.  My daughter would have been a Jedi."  

"Anakin could tell that?  After only a month?"  Sarré's voice had a distinct hint of interest.  

"He did.  He can find out anything he wants, when he tries hard enough."  

"Because you asked him to."

Leia could only nod weakly.  "I wish I hadn't.  Now I wish I didn't know."  

Sarré squeezed her close.  "I still don't understand what this has to do with Bryon.  How could I get pregnant if I'm on the injections?"  

Leia took a deep breath.  "It's going to sound ridiculous."

"I can handle it."

"Because he's a Skywalker."

Sarré laughed.  "You're going to have to say more than that to convince me!"  

Leia laughed too.  "I suppose so.  Well, I guess they never told you or Bryon but…  he was… an accident.  After Danaé was born, my Mom went on the injections again.  One night she was feeling sad because I was the only child who wouldn't be a Jedi.  And Daddy tried to make her feel better and…  well… anyway, he told her that maybe someday she would get her wish.  He… wanted it to happen for her…  and… it did."

"Are you saying that him wishing for it made it so?"  

"I told you it sounds ridiculous.  When I married Jarren, Daddy told me that story.  Just in case, so I'd know to be careful about even thinking it.  I laughed at him; I thought he was being completely paranoid.  But there was only one time I ever made a wish like that…"  She let her voice trail off; she couldn't go on.  

"And Bryon did too.  On Naboo.  He must have wished it.  And the Force granted it."  

"That's right."

Sarré sighed deeply.  "Leia?"

"Yes?"

"Wasn't Luke taking an awful risk, then, with his… well… with the girls in the Temple?"  

Leia chuckled.  "Sort of.  First of all, don't let the stories fool you.  He only did…  that… with a few of them.  And there's no way he ever would have wished for a child, even for a millisecond, so the injections would have worked fine.  Plus, Mara says the girls in the Temple all know how to use the Force to…  prevent conception… and I'm sure they did that too when they were… with him."

"Unless they lied to Luke about their intentions."

"I guess he felt he could trust them."  

"Yeah."  Sarré held Leia closely for a few silent minutes.  Then she sighed and spoke again.  "Promise me you won't tell anyone.  About the wedding, and especially about me being…  Anyone.  Anyone at all.  Bryon has to be the next person to know.  It can't be any other way.  Promise me."

"He should have known before me," Leia said quietly.  "Yes, Sarré, I promise.  And you have to promise me not to tell anyone about… about what I told you.  Not even Bryon, okay?  Not even him.  And definitely not my Mom.  Not under any circumstances.  I'll tell Daddy to talk to Bryon about this, but you can't tell Bryon about my… my… my daughter.  You just can't.  I'm sorry."  

"I promise, Leia.  I promise."  

---****

The static-laden blue holographic image rose over the desk.  "I apologize for the delay," Darth Vengous' image said coolly.  "I encountered an unexpected obstacle in my departure from Naboo."  

"An unexpected obstacle, you say?"  Tarkin raised his eyebrows as he leaned forward in his chair.  "Do tell." 

"The Chosen One and Kenobi were there," she grumbled.  "It necessitated some creativity on my part to make our escape without revealing the full extent of my powers.  That must come only in the situation of our choosing, when he will be helpless to resist them."  

"Indeed," Tarkin nodded.  "I am pleased you were able to hold to the plan."  

"As am I," Vengous agreed.  "But we shall discuss this further later.  In the meantime, is the next stage of the design ready to be executed?"

"It is, my friend."  

"Very good.  Lady Delicti, it seems your mission went smoothly."

The adjacent blue holographic image nodded.  "We had an exceptional complement of the brownshirts with us, Master.  They decimated the Special Forces with ease.  The four Jedi at the scene put up a valiant effort, but ultimately were dispatched with little difficulty." 

"Excellent work, my young apprentice.  The diversion is accomplished, and the Senate will be crippled at the most inopportune time.  Pass along my congratulations to Lord Malus."

"Of course, Master," Delicti said.  "He asked me to mention his disappointment that we could not slay the Skywalker boy when he was within our grasp."

"All in due time, Lady Delicti.  All in due time," Vengous chuckled darkly.  "We must wait until we can maximize the impact of his demise on the others."  

"As you wish, Master.  We will reach the next destination within hours."

From beneath her cowl Vengous smiled.  "I will arrive shortly," she said, "and will await you.  And how does the rest of the operation fare, General Tarkin?"  

"The initial strike teams have taken up positions around Gimna 3 and the fleet has begun massing for the assault.  The Republic detected this, of course, but the assassination prevented the formation of an immediate response.  It now appears they have begun preparations for an evacuation of refugees and personnel.  They must have concluded that the delay has cost them the opportunity hold the planet."

"The diversion and the principal attack worked exactly as we predicted," Vengous grinned.  "And now the trap is set.  I am very pleased."  

"You should be aware that we have not yet been able to confirm the locations of the Skywalkers," explained Tarkin calmly.  "I cannot tell you with certainty they will be there."

"They will," Vengous stated flatly.  "Although the killing of the Organa boy did not lure them to the planet, this attack will.  This system has too much emotional meaning to them because of it, which is what makes it the perfect target now.  They will be there.  All of them.  I have foreseen it."

"Then it is inevitable, my friend," Tarkin said appreciatively.  

"Move ahead with the assault as scheduled, General.  We will do the rest," Vengous directed.  "Give Lord Regelous my best wishes for the success of his troops.  And I look forward to your arrival, Lady Delicti."

"And I to seeing you, Master," said the other holographic image.  

"Until next time, then," Tarkin smiled broadly, "when we will celebrate our conquest of Gimna 3 and the beginning of the demise of the Skywalkers."  When the two images nodded respectfully, he tapped the button to terminate the feeds.  Then he rose from his chair and whistled a triumphant martial march as he strode confidently toward the door.   

---

"Major?  Can you hear me?"  

The soothing feminine voice woke Bryon from his stupor.  

"Major?  If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand."

He felt the soft skin of a small hand slide into his and he squeezed it back gently.  But he still couldn't remember where he was and his eyes seemed glued shut.  With a cough he managed to force a word from his throat.  "Sarré?"

"No, Major," the soft voice said.  "It's Kessa Brittin."  

Still keeping his eyes closed, he took a deep, hitching breath and spoke again.  "Where… are we?"  

"You're in the medical ward of the _Optimus_, Major.  There was a battle on board.  Do you remember?"  

Bryon tried to concentrate for a moment, except the heavy sedation was nearly overwhelming.  As he struggled to think coherently, his head began to pound in agony again.  After a few moments he was able to recall what had happened.  Then he noted that the piercing pain in his left shoulder seemed to have subsided; he could feel a massive wrap of bacta bandages around it underneath the thin patient's gown he now apparently was wearing.  And his ribs only ached a little from the strike to the chest.  "Yes," he gasped.  "But… my head…  still…"

"You have a severe concussion," Kessa explained quietly.  "The medical droid says it will take several more hours for the bactade to have its full effect.  And you've been injected with the counter-sedative.  You'll feel awake very soon."  

He tried to open his eyes and realized he could barely do so.  They must have swollen up from the head injury.  With great effort he did and looked at his aide.  She still wore her gray combat fatigues but not the battle armor.  "What's… wrong?  I mean… why did… you wake me?"  

"There's a transmission for you from the Royal Palace on Naboo.  From your father."

Bryon nodded.  "Yes.  Bring it… to me."  When she started to turn away, he reached out for her arm.  "Did… Graff…" 

Kessa smiled weakly as she turned back with a hand-held viewscreen.  "Yes, he's alive," she nodded.  "We lost over a hundred and fifty men, but he made it."  

"You did… too," he smiled back.  

"Yes," she said.  "I was with one of the lucky units."  She stood up from his bedside.  "I'll be outside."  

Bryon heaved himself into a sitting postion, lifted the small viewscreen, and tapped its surface.  It activated with an image of his father.  "Dad," he said slowly as he struggled to gain control of his breathing and his rapidly clearing train of thought.  "I'm here."  

"It's a great relief to see you, Bryon," said his father sincerely.  "We've been very worried.  I know what's happened to the convoy; I've already been debriefed by Captain Graff."

"Okay."

"Bryon, it's Mom."  He couldn't see her face; her father must have patched her into the feed.  And he could tell she was crying.  "It's so wonderful to hear your voice." 

"You too."  

"Here's the situation," his father began calmly.  "Argis is massing forces for an assault on Gimna 3.  Our garrison on the planet is far too small to hold it.  There are many thousands of refugees that must be evacuated immediately from in and around Gonnolli, the capital city, as well as the Republic leadership on the planet.  The operation has already begun, but we're going to continue it to the very end.  I need to know your status."  

"I'm injured," Bryon said carefully, "but I'll be fine before I could get there.  I don't have many men left, though.  I don't know what difference I could make." 

"Bryon, the Chancellor is dead.  The Senate will be in emergency session shortly.  You understand that any orders I give to military units would take precedence unless countermanded by Commander General Dodonna himself?"  

"Yes, Dad, of course."

"Two regiments of regulars will be arriving at Gonnolli soon, along with a battalion of Special Forces."  Anakin looked firmly into Bryon's eyes over the viewscreen.  "I know you've run many operations like this before, if not on quite so large a scale.  I need someone I trust in command of the Army units, Bryon.  I need you."  

"I don't know," Bryon said forlornly.  "I failed here.  I failed.  I can't fail again, not with those stakes."  

His father did not react to his reluctance.  "Danaé's already on her way to meet us there.  Luke and Mara are on Tatooine and as soon as we're finished, Obi-Wan and I are contacting them and ordering them to join us immediately at Naboo, and we'll be on our way.  And the _Millennium Falcon_ is headed there too."  

Bryon shuddered with fear.  Sarré.  Sarré would be there.  She would be much, much safer if he could protect her himself.  Nothing else mattered.  "How will I get there?"  
  


"One of the corvettes in the convoy is suitable.  I will order it to transport you."  

"I'll bring the men I have left," Bryon said.  "Can you transmit maps of the city and the evacuation routes out of the atmosphere?"  

"Of course.  Everything I have will be waiting for you at the corvette."  

Bryon steeled himself to ask the difficult question.  "Dad?  Why is Sarré going there?  It's too dangerous."  

"Believe me, Bryon," his mother's voice interjected in distress, "I told Leia that.  So many times.  But she wouldn't listen to me.  Even if your father had ordered Captain Solo not to go, she would have found a way."

While she had been speaking, it all had come together for Bryon.  "Jarren," he rasped.  "These were the refugees Jarren was trying to help last year when he was murdered.  She couldn't let them be slaughtered."  

"That's right," Padmé agreed.  "I'm sorry."  

"It's not your fault," Bryon sighed.  "Okay, Dad, issue the orders.  I'll get us to the corvette, and I'll see you at Gimna 3 as soon as we can get there."  

"Thank you, Bryon," his father nodded solemnly.  "May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Dad."  The viewscreen cut away to static when the feed terminated from the other end.  Bryon deactivated the device and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  He took another hitching breath and raised his voice.  "Kessa?"

A moment later his diminutive staff secretary burst through the open doorway.  "Yes, Major?"  

"Ask Will to find me right away and then gather the survivors.  We must depart without delay.  We have a mission from the Jedi Council." 

---

Luke awoke suddenly.  His mind was instantly on alert and he felt his awareness automatically latch on to his lightsaber handle on the small table across the room.  But even probing in the Force and trying to trigger his subconscious perceptions to reveal themselves he couldn't figure out what had awakened him.  He glanced quickly around the room.  Nothing had been disturbed from the night before.  The rays of light streaming in the tiny window seemed to indicate that it was mid-morning, if not later.  He surged his awareness into the hallway, but no one was there who might have knocked at the door.  

It didn't occur to him that he was lying in bed with Mara in his arms until she stirred, nuzzled his neck, and exhaled a deep, contented sigh.  

He lifted his head a little to see that she had opened her eyes.  "Hey," he said lamely.  

She smiled.  "Hey."  

He wanted to say more but didn't know what to say or where to begin.  Something had happened between them.  Everything had happened between them.  They hadn't talked about it or planned it or even realized it was going to happen until it simply did.  She hadn't said she loved him; he hadn't said he loved her.  They had driven off the pain of their grief with their passion, but now that reality was back again their friends still were dead.  Had it been nothing more than lust that had made the anguish disappear for a while, or had they been able to find such blissful comfort with each other because of a long-simmering affection much deeper than that?  He wasn't sure, and he had no idea how to talk to her about it.  He was unprepared for this moment.  Totally unprepared.  

Her green eyes gazed back at him with a similar apprehension.  She blinked, swallowed hard, and looked like she was about to say something when a sharp beeping sound echoed through the room.  

Luke bolted upright in the bed.  It was his emergency-frequency comlink – the "second attempt" alarm.  He burst his perceptions toward his utility belt on the floor on the other side of the room and extended his hand.  Only a second later the small device launched from his belt and smacked into his palm.  He read the code on the display.  "It's Master Obi-Wan," he told Mara.  

Even though it was an audio-only device, Mara pulled up the sheet all the way around her shoulders.  "Okay."

Luke tapped the button on the side and waited for the confirmation that the connection was opened and successfully encrypted.  "Yes, Master?"

"Luke, have you completed the mission on Tatooine?"  

Luke's face fell and he met Mara's gaze.  She nodded sadly.  "Yes, Master," he said.  

"Then I am issuing you new orders effective immediately.  Argis is arraying a fleet to attack Gimna 3.  Your father and I are coordinating an evacuation of refugees and Republic personnel.  We need your assistance."  His Master's voice paused briefly.  "Anakin wants to know if Mara is with you." 

Luke nearly dropped the comlink.  Mara mouthed words to him: _"Do you think they know?"_  He shook his head.  "Yes, Master, she is."  

"Excellent.  That will save us all a lot of time.  We are currently on Naboo.  Arrange the fastest possible transportation you can find to Theed and meet us immediately.  Cost is no obstacle.  Your father's ship will get us all to Gimna 3 very quickly from here."

"Understood, Master.  We should be able to depart within the hour."

"Very good, Luke.  May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Master."  Luke deactivated the comlink let his hands fall into his lap.  

Mara sat up too.  "I guess… we should get dressed and go."

"Yeah," he agreed.  "We should."  

A few minutes later they strode quickly through the crowded streets of Mos Eisley.  On the recommendation of the inn's proprietress they were heading to a nearby cantina to find a charter pilot.  

Luke made his point one more time.  "It would be cheaper just to buy a ship," he grumbled.  

"Maybe it'd be cheaper," Mara conceded, "but we can't be assured about quality.  We might end up stranded in deep space or hopelessly off course or who knows what else."

"I'd inspect the ship first," he insisted.  "I'd be able to tell if there were any major defects."

"I know you like to fly, and I'd be more than happy to let you, but we don't have that kind of time," she said firmly.  "Time for an inspection.  Time to negotiate a sale.  If we go with a charter, we can leave right away and we know the ship will be functional because it's the pilot's job to make sure of it." 

"I suppose you have a point."

"Yes, I do."  

"When you're setting this up," he chuckled, "just try not to use any of your Master's aggressive negotiation techniques, okay?"  

"I won't," she laughed.  "I promise."  

Once they reached the cantina, Mara went directly to the bartender.  After a short exchange he pointed her in the direction of a booth along the far wall.  They both kept their cloaks drawn tightly, concealing their Jedi robes from even the most prying eyes.  Luke kept his hand on his lightsaber handle as they slid into the bench opposite the table's occupants: a tall, bearded man and a shorter, very attractive woman.  

"We need passage to Naboo, departing immediately," Mara explained calmly over the din of the lively tune being played by the motley band of Bith and other aliens.  "Word is yours is the fastest ship in port right now."

"That's true," the man grinned.  "I can get you there in under six standard hours.  It'll cost you, though."  

Mara winked.  "Two thousand now, fifteen when we reach Naboo."

"Seventeen?"  The man's eyes lit up and he glanced quickly to his companion.  "You've got yourselves a ship.  I'm Talon Karrde, and this is my associate, Shada D'ukal."

"I'm Arica," lied Mara perfectly, using an alias she had created years ago for an undercover mission with her Master, "and this is my husband, Kane Starkiller."  

After a polite set of nods around the table, Karrde rose.  "Docking bay ninety-four.  We'll be ready in ten minutes."  

"Ninety-four," Mara nodded.  

After the pair was gone, Luke glanced around at the clientele of the cantina and shook his head.  "When the dossier from the Temple said Mos Eisley was a wretched hive of scum and villainy, they weren't kidding."  

Mara laughed.  "Let's just hope our ride is neither."  


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Padmé sat in her pod in the Galactic Senate chamber, her fingers anxiously plucking at the faded japoor snippet pendant hanging from a thin chain around her neck.  The emergency session had convened within hours of Chancellor Millius' assassination.  Senator Firren of Sullust, the Rules Committee chairman, was presiding over the raging debate.  

The second assassination of a Supreme Chancellor in less than two weeks had left all the delegates stunned.  Although the first order of business should have been the immediate election of a new Supreme Chancellor, not a single Senator had been nominated to the post.  

Padmé knew exactly why.  They were terrified.  They were all terrified.  The high office now looked less like the pinnacle of political achievement and more like a death mark.  Whoever held the post next would have to manage a full-scale war against Argis' Vyhrragian legions, try to keep the Senate from degenerating into paralysis, and be willing to lay down their life to serve the Republic.  

It was little wonder no one was leaping at the opportunity.  

Instead of focusing on the selection of a new Chancellor, the debate had taken a disturbing turn.  Senator Breena of Rodia, once a leading proponent of peace, actually had stood before the Senate and called for the declaration of martial law not merely in the threatened sectors but throughout the Republic.  The staggering proposition was receiving praise from an increasing number of delegates, and the climate of fear in the chamber was gaining intensity every minute.  

Jenny leaned forward and put her hand on Padmé's shoulder.  "You're next on the Order of Debate," she said gently.  "Do you want to speak, or should I yield the time?" 

"I don't know," Padmé sighed.  "This is bad.  This is very, very bad.  But I don't know what to do about it." 

High in the air above them Senator Rylla of Ryloth, the corpulent Twi'lek, was bombastically declaring the hopelessness of the conflict.  "How can we, a democracy," he shouted, "ever attain the kind of strict leadership necessary to prevail against an opponent of this kind?  Argis is a dictator - a ruthless and brutal one.  He can act quickly and efficiently, with no legislative approvals to obtain or committees to clear.  He simply acts.  Our Supreme Chancellor lacks this kind of authority.  No matter who the next one is, he or she will be mired in bureaucracy and procedure.  Perhaps martial law is the only way.  And every hour we delay in electing a new Chancellor is another hour our enemy holds the advantage."  

Padmé sprang to her feet and smoothed the front of her formal blue gown.  "I will speak," she said to Jenny as she adjusted the heavy, elaborate Naboo style into which her long brown hair had been arranged.  "I will speak."  

When Rylla concluded a few minutes later, Padmé's pod rose from its moorings along the lowest row of pods near the chamber floor and floated smoothly into the open air in front of the Chancellor's podium far above.  "Fellow Senators," she began, "this discussion of martial law is a threat to the very meaning of our democracy.  Our great Republic is founded on the importance of debate and representation and oversight.  Martial law is antithetical to all of these, and we must avoid it at all costs.  The Republic is not weak.  Our military is strong and our soldiers are capable of victory.  We simply now must unleash them against our enemy.  They will prevail, of that I have no doubt."  

She felt Jenny tug at her hand, then pass a small hand-held datapad into it.  Without interrupting her improvised address, Padmé read the short text message.  It was from Bail Organa in the Alderaan pod; he had stepped in as temporary representative for his homeworld after Millius' death.  

"Senator Rylla is correct," she said as she skimmed the words, "that each hour we delay is an hour Argis holds the advantage."  _You are a genius, Bail_, she thought.  _This is brilliant._  "But that does not counsel the declaration of martial law.  Instead it counsels immediate action to install a new, democratically accountable leader."  _I will begin this, Bail.  I trust you know what you're doing next._  "We have debated for hours without a single nomination.  And perhaps this decision is too important to make in a moment of extreme crisis.  Perhaps we should not select our next Supreme Chancellor so hastily.  But we need not do so.  There is an alternative."  

A stunned silence echoed in the gigantic chamber.  Padmé smiled - clearly no one remembered the ancient procedure her old friend had suggested.  It was perfect.  Absolutely perfect.  

"My fellow delegates," she continued after the brief pause, "I move the invocation of Article Six, Section Fourteen, Clause Eight of the Articles of Succession."  

---

The two Jedi Masters sat in the cockpit of the _Lady Vader_ as the unique starship dropped out of hyperspace and Jaytoo began to recalculate the next jump to lightspeed toward Gimna 3.  The short delay would give them the time they needed to make an important transmission.  

From the starboard co-pilot's seat Obi-Wan opened the connection to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.  When the console beeped to notify him that the encryption had succeeded, he addressed the wavering, static-laden blue holographic image that rose two hand-widths above the console.  "Is the feed clear, Barriss?"

"It is, Obi-Wan," nodded the near-human Mirialan woman.  "And we've done our best with your request."  

Anakin leaned over from the pilot's chair.  "What do we have available?"  

"Aayla set it up," Master Offee said.  "Here."  

After a moment, the small image of the Twi'lek Master Secura appeared.  "Two pairs of Padawans were on nearby planets, and they already have arrived at the _Invictus_," she explained.  "I also have located three more Master-apprentice pairs who should be able to join you within six hours.  But given the constraints of time, that is the most we can do."

"Very well, Aayla," nodded Obi-Wan.  "Fifteen Jedi total, then.  Not enough for an operation of this magnitude, but far better than I had expected."  

The holographic image shifted to Master Offee again.  "Mace had a brief chance to speak with Danaé while she was in transit from Dagobah," she told them calmly.  "He was very pleased with what she had to say, apparently.  He fully approves of her assignment to Gimna 3, and expressed his belief that she can handle any role you might wish to give her."

"That's good to know," Anakin smiled.  "I haven't spoken to her yet myself, but I trust his judgment."  

"Do you need anything else from us?" asked Barriss.  "We've dismissed the utility of reinforcements, so I doubt there's much we could do on this end."  

"We have done the best we can under the circumstances," Obi-Wan said reluctantly.  "We simply will have to believe that the Force is with us."  

"As you say," Barriss said.  She looked away momentarily.  "Aayla agrees."

Anakin ran his fingers through his short gray hair.  "You should be aware, Barriss," he said sadly, "that the mission on Tatooine did not end favorably.  Gialla and Von Krindlemeier are dead, and Luke and Mara blame themselves for it.  They disobeyed our instructions and attempted a rescue."  

"I see," Barriss frowned.  "Should I inform the Council?  We convene again this evening."  

Obi-Wan sighed and glanced at his old friend.  Anakin only shrugged.  With a deep breath, Obi-Wan ran his fingers through his short white beard and looked back at the holographic image.  "There is no need to inform the Council at this time.  Our Padawans have enough remorse for their actions, and I am confident they will act with greater discipline at Gimna 3.  Once we return to Coruscant, they will prepare a full report and the Council can act accordingly." 

"Very well," Master Offee nodded.  "I am sorry to hear this," she said after a moment.  "They were so close to being approved to take the Trials.  It is a shame they will lose that opportunity."

"Yes, it is," Anakin grimaced.  "But they have given us no choice."  

"Are you enjoying holding the Chair in my absence, Barriss?" laughed Obi-Wan to lighten the somber mood.  

"Enjoy?  I'm not sure that's the right word, my dear friend," she laughed too.  "May the Force be with you." 

"And also with you," Obi-Wan nodded, then flicked off the transmission feed.  

---

The _Millennium Falcon_ flew slowly through the enormous opening of a docking bay of the Republic Navy destroyer _Invictus__._  The floor of the gargantuan room, several hundred meters on each side, was filled to capacity with a wide variety of military and civilian transports and Navy starfighters.  High in orbit above the threatened planet of Gimna 3, the destroyer soon would be the staging ground for a massive evacuation of refugees and personnel from the surface.  

Once the old and worn Corellian freighter had dropped the final distance to the floor and settled onto its landing gear, its passengers headed toward the boarding ramp to disembark.  

Sarré was so overwhelmed by her inconsolable need to see Bryon again that she was having great difficulty paying attention to the others around her.  Han was explaining to Leia that he would be pulled away on Navy business immediately, and Leia was perfectly calm about it.  Less than half a day ago they had spent the night together, but Sarré knew they hadn't told Chewie or Lando.  They were acting nonchalantly, as if nothing significant had happened.  Sarré supposed it probably was because of Leia's continuing discomfort about what her family would think, and Han no doubt was concerned about the appearance of having begun an affair with a Senator he was charged with protecting.  With all her heart Sarré wanted to scream at Leia that the price of hiding the relationship was too high - unbearably high.  But right now it was taking all of her self-control to suppress her fidgeting and she couldn't possibly formulate a coherent way to express her concern to Leia.  

Finally the boarding ramp lowered.  Sarré shot past the others to be the first down the ramp, rushing immediately into the open arms of her secret husband, who was waiting for her at the very edge of the painted stripe of the safety zone.  She slammed her arms around him and felt his crushing embrace nearly knock the air from her lungs.  Tears flowed in torrents from her eyes.  It had been only about five weeks.  It had felt like an eternity. 

Only vaguely was she aware of Han and his friends saluting Admiral Mirkalla, who praised them highly for their legendary exploits against the Hutt Criminal Syndicate.  She barely noticed Leia hugging Anakin and patting Artoo on his dome.  She couldn't think about anything but being in Bryon's arms again.  

After a short time she found her voice.  "I missed you so much," she sobbed.  "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," Bryon said with tears streaming down his face as well.  "I need you so much right now."  

She buried her face in the black shirt of his Special Forces fatigues and kept crying.  Every sob that wracked his body, every gasp for air through his tears, she heard and felt.  There was so much she needed to say, and yet she could not find the words.  They simply stood in silence, holding each other desperately.  

Sarré lifted her face away from Bryon's chest and gazed up at him.  He looked awful.  He had dark circles under his eyes, and bruising and swelling around them.  His skin was pale, and the energy that usually sparkled in his smile was nowhere to be seen.  "Everything will be okay," she whispered to him.  

Bryon tried in vain to blink away the last of his tears.  "I hope so," he said quietly.  "I hope so."  

She knew what was upsetting him so much.  "You did the best you could," she insisted.  "You and your men did your best."

"But it wasn't good enough," he said mournfully.  "The Chancellor is dead and. and Pryzill. and Krannar too. and so many of them. and. and. it's my fault.  It was my responsibility.  I failed them.  I failed them all.  I failed the Army."

"You can't think like that," she replied firmly, yet still softly enough that no one else could hear.  "You can't.  No one wins every single battle.  It's impossible."  

He took a deep breath and sighed.  "I know.  It's just really starting to get to me, this war.  All the casualties.  All the death."  His body shook from anguish.  "We won't be able to save anywhere close to all the refugees here.  Even if we succeed beyond our wildest dreams, thousands and thousands will be stranded.  I don't know how much more of this I can handle, Sarré.  It's too much to take.  It's just too much."  

She smiled as reassuringly as she could.  "You'll make it through this, Bryon.  I'm here now.  We'll make it through this together.  You and me."  She smiled more broadly and took a deep breath, keeping her voice hushed.  "We'll make it.  You and me and."

"Hey, Sarré."  Leia's voice cut through air and drove away all of Sarré's resolve to continue with her very private announcement.  

Sarré turned to face Leia and Anakin, and realized the Navy officers already had left.  "Yes?"

Leia clearly was oblivious to what she had interrupted.  "We need to go now.  I'm sorry.  Daddy says the Senate is meeting in emergency session, and we need to see if we can get in touch with our Moms before we get pulled away for other things."

"It's okay," Bryon said quickly.  "I've been away from the planning meeting too long already.  There will be time to talk later.  I promise."  

"Okay," Sarré nodded reluctantly.  There was no way to tell him now.  Not in front of Anakin.   

Sarré compelled herself to release Bryon and walked over to join Leia and Anakin.  "Let's go," she said, using every ounce of willpower she had to keep her voice from shaking.  As they walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder one last time at Bryon.  He remained standing in place, watching her.  

After Sarré was gone, Bryon strode quickly away from the _Falcon_ toward a different exit on the far wall.  When he was out of earshot, a series of bleeps and toodles filled the air.  

"I'm delighted to see you too," said Threepio to Artoo.  As always, the droids had waited patiently to the side to be sure there were no instructions from their human masters.  "You must tell me all about your trip to Dagobah with Mistress Danaé."  

The astromech beeped and whistled.  "Oh, my journey with Mistress Leia was perfectly uneventful," the protocol droid replied.  "Well, except for the very end, when this quite unruly band of miscreants began attacking us as we were walking to the ship to depart." 

Artoo honked and squealed.  "Yes, we were attacked!" exclaimed Threepio.  "There was blaster fire everywhere.  I was certain I was going to be blown to pieces, but thank the Maker I wasn't."  

Artoo blooped and whistled sadly.  "Yes, I know," Threepio responded.  "This is a tragic situation.  But I am confident that Master Bryon has a well conceived plan for helping as many of the refugees as we can."  

Artoo beeped proudly.  "I think so too," Threepio agreed.  "He's quite clever, you know.  For a human being."  

---****

Nalé Bellion sat on the side bench of the Alderaan pod.  Since the day her mother had assumed the post of Acting Senator for the Naboo system while Leia was away, Nalé had joined her in their homeworld's pod for every assembly of the delegates.  A few hours ago she had learned that Bail Organa would be Acting Senator from Alderaan until the planet's Viceroy could appoint a replacement for the slain Bail Millius, and that he would be alone in the pod during this important emergency session.  Nalé had offered to sit with him and help as much as she could, and he had accepted graciously.  

Now Nalé listened intently to Bryon's mother addressing the Senate from far down below near the podium.  

"My fellow delegates," Padmé was saying, "I move the invocation of Article Six, Section Fourteen, Clause Eight of the Articles of Succession.  That clause provides for the selection by acclamation of a Chancellor Regent who shall assume the powers of the office of Supreme Chancellor until such time as a proper succession election can be held."  She paused for a moment, then continued.  "By rule, the motion itself is not debatable.  A candidate shall be immediately nominated, and the presiding Chair shall call for approval by acclamation.  Candidates shall be proposed until one receives approval.  No other business may be conducted."  She paused again, allowing the words to sink in for the shocked delegates throughout the chamber.  "If we act wisely, my honorable colleagues, we will have a Regent within minutes.  As movant, I am entitled to make the first proposal.  I choose, however, to yield my time to the Alderaan system."  

Nalé looked over at Bail with raised eyebrows.  She knew he had sent two messages from his datapad, but she had assumed they had been to the office staff.  Apparently not.  

As the Alderaan pod released from its position far up the sloping bowl and descended slowly toward the podium, Bail leaned over and smiled.  "Don't be nervous," he said soothingly.  "You don't have to do anything.  It's okay for you to stay seated.  I'll only be speaking for a short moment."  

Nalé realized she was hyperventilating, so she took a deep breath to try to calm herself.  Her pulse was racing and she felt beads of sweat forming on her forehead.  Anxiously her fingers began to pluck at the elegant meadow-green dress she had chosen for today.  

The pod finally slowed into a position next to Padmé's.  Standing calmly in the front of the pod, Bail addressed the chamber in a firm, authoritative voice earned by nine years of service on the Supreme Chancellor's podium.  "Thank you, Senator-at-Large Skywalker," he said.  "For the post of Chancellor Regent, to serve effective immediately until such time as a duly elected Chancellor is chosen, I propose Acting Senator Sabé Bellion of Naboo."

Nalé barely managed to stifle her gasp.  From the corner of her eye she saw Padmé slump backward into Jenny's arms in her pod a few meters away, equally dazed by the shock of Bail's words.  

Before Nalé could say anything she realized the Alderaan pod was ascending through the air again.  Around her she heard the usual dull murmur of background conversations explode into a cacophony of cheers and shouts and exclamations.  At the podium, Senator Firren made no effort to restore order but simply stood calmly and let the uproar take its course.  

As the pod slowed and approached its moorings, Nalé swallowed hard and looked at Bail.  "You just told them that you thought Mom should be the Supreme Chancellor, didn't you?" 

"In a way, yes," Bail said tenderly as he reached over from his seat to take her hands.  "Not permanently, though.  I said that we need someone to be making decisions and taking charge and doing everything the Chancellor does.  And what Padmé did was call upon a very old rule that says that we can select a person to be a Regent for the office.  That person acts just like a Chancellor, but they're not officially the Chancellor.  As soon as we can have a proper set of nominations and an election, the Regent steps aside and the duly elected Chancellor takes over."

"I think I understand," Nalé said through her quivering jaw.  "It's like how Mom is standing in for Leia now, but she stops as soon as Leia gets back."

"That's exactly right," Bail smiled warmly.  "It's the same idea."  

"So if the Senate does what you asked, Mom will basically get to be the Chancellor for a while.  Until there's an election.  She'd make decisions, and get to tell the Army what to do, and things like that."

"Yes," Bail nodded.  

"She could make Sarré come back, and make the Army send Bryon home," Nalé said pleadingly.  "She could make them safe."  

Bail smiled sadly.  "I suppose so, yes.  I suppose she could."  

Nalé furrowed her brow.  "What does acclamation mean?"  

"It means that when the presiding Chair of the chamber puts the proposed Regent to the delegates, everyone has to agree.  If anyone objects, even a single Senator, then there is not approval by acclamation."  

Nalé frowned.  "Would that ever work?  Wouldn't someone always object?"  

"It's a possibility," Bail conceded.  "But that's why acclamation is used so rarely.  By making the procedure approval by acclamation, the Articles of Succession make each Senator think greatly about their duty.  This is only a temporary choice - a Regent.  The person doesn't have to be a perfect one.  It might be someone who couldn't be elected as a regular Chancellor, but because it's only a Regent, the Articles ask the Senators to set aside their differences and choose someone who's acceptable to everyone for that short-term post."  

"And you think Mom could be approved by acclamation?  That's why you nominated her?"

"Yes, darling, that's right," Bail smiled.  "Your mother served here for fifteen years.  She has her share of enemies who still hold grudges, that's certain.  But everyone respects her, even her enemies.  She is smart and wise and knows many of the Senators personally.  They trust her and know she will do a good job.  And most of all they know that she loves the Senate and the Republic and would step aside when the new Chancellor is elected, no matter who it is, even someone she doesn't like."  

"I know she's really famous and everyone respects her," Nalé said quietly.  "I guess I never realized how important she is.  I mean, she could be the Chancellor Regent during a war.  That's.  I don't know.  It's a really big deal."

"Yes," Bail smiled.  "Yes, it is."  

Then the pod's console beeped, and far beneath them Senator Firren began to call for order from the podium.  After a short time decorum was restored.  Firren cleared his throat and addressed the chamber.  "The motion has been made and is not debatable.  Acting Senator Sabé Bellion of Naboo has been proposed as Chancellor Regent.  The proposal must carry by acclamation."  Firren took a deep breath and continued.  "As the presiding Chair of this body, it is my duty to submit the proposal to the floor.  The proposal is hereby submitted.  Any delegate objecting to the approval of Acting Senator Bellion shall so vote at this time."

Anxiously Nalé peered over Bail's shoulder at the small screen that displayed the results of votes.  A solitary red dot on the grid of 1,200 delegations would end her mother's chance to be Regent.  None appeared. 

After an eternal, terrible, soul-rending pause Firren spoke again.  "The time to vote has elapsed.  The proposal is approved by acclamation."  The Senator from Sullust leaned over for a moment to the Vice Chair.  "It has been my honor preside over this session today.  We are hereby adjourned, to assemble as scheduled in the morning.  It is my privilege to announce that by operation of law, Sabé Bellion of Naboo is now Chancellor Regent of the Republic."

A thunderous ovation shook the chamber, and Nalé looked far across the enormous bowl toward the Naboo pod.  She saw her mother standing in her pod, bowing humbly to acknowledge the cheering of her peers.  

Nalé couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks.  She leaned forward and grasped Bail's arm, raising her voice to be heard over the din.  "I need to see my Mom," she sobbed, suddenly feeling much younger than her sixteen years.  "I need to see her."

---

Luke adjusted the fit of his indigo Jedi robes as he approached the door to the small lounge where his twin sister was expecting him.  She had arrived aboard the destroyer only a short time ago, and momentarily he would have to head to the staging deck for the mission briefing.  Even if they had only a few minutes, though, he wanted to be sure her assignment to Pharenniol had gone smoothly.  

She must have heard his boots on the tile floors, because she was rushing to the door to greet him.  "Hi," she smiled happily as she reached out to embrace him.  

Luke stopped in his tracks, extended his arms in front of him, and blocked her.  "What do you think you're doing?" 

She flinched at the harsh rebuke.  "What?" 

"That," he said, pointing to her attire.  She was wearing the red-and-white jumpsuit of a Naboo military commando, had her long brown hair pulled up in the traditional combat braids, and had a large blaster pistol holstered on her belt.  He stared intensely into her eyes.  "You're not participating in the operation.  It's too dangerous."

"I most certainly am participating," she snarled as she headed down the hallway in the direction of the turbolifts to the staging deck.  "We'll need all the hands we can get down there, and I'm doing my part.  Sarré's going along with Bryon, and I'm going too." 

"What you mean is," he growled, "you're going along with Captain Solo."

"Yes."  

Luke shook his head in disbelief.  "Have you lost your mind?"  

"No, not at all," Leia snapped.  "These refugees need our help.  Jarren gave his life trying to help them.  And I'm going to help them too."  

"This isn't some peaceful camp on stable world," he insisted.  "This is a war zone, Leia.  A war zone.  You have to stay here on the destroyer.  You must ensure your own safety."

"Don't order me around, Luke," she spat as the turbolift door closed in front of them.  "I don't answer to you.  And I'm participating in this mission whether you like it or not."  

His piercing stare had not abated.  "You think you're in love with him, don't you?" 

"So what if I do?" she barked.  "I'm not doing this for him.  I'm doing it for me.  Because I have to."

"If he really cared for you, he wouldn't let you." 

"Ha!  I'd like to see him try," she laughed.  "Yes, we care for each other.  But I wouldn't listen to him on this any more than I would to you.  It's not like we got married or something." 

Her words hit Luke like a slap in the face.  Married.  Husband.  Mara had called him her husband.  When they had posed as travelers needing passage to Naboo, she had called him her husband.  She hadn't told him in advance or asked him or warned him.  She'd just done it.  Panic rose in mind and his heart began to pound.  _One night together_, he thought, _and she's calling me her husband.  Is that how she feels?  Does she want to get married?  It was one night.  We don't.  How could.  There's so many._

Leia was looking at him in confusion when he hadn't replied, and when she spoke the harshness was gone from her voice.  "Luke?  What's wrong?"  

He shook his head to clear his thoughts.  "Nothing," he said firmly, walking out the open door of the turbolift on to the staging deck of the destroyer.  "Nothing.  I just.  I.  I got distracted."  

"Did you sense something in the Force?"  In her eyes, apprehension about the mission to come was apparent.

"No," he replied quietly.  "Not that.  Forget it.  I'm fine." 

"Okay," Leia said, unconvinced.  They passed through the open door of the briefing room.  "There's Sarré," she pointed.  "I'm going to sit with her."  

"Fine," Luke agreed, "but we're not through with this.  You're making a mistake.  A big mistake."

"Go kiss a mynock," she glared, then marched away.  

---

Striding down the gray hallway of the _Invictus_, Mara couldn't believe it had been only a few hours since she had arrived here aboard the _Lady Vader_.  She had spent the whole time on the destroyer in meditation, trying to calm her emotions from the roiling tempest they had become on Tatooine.  Her Master had approved of the idea, but it hadn't been as effective as she had hoped.  Her time for meditation was up, though, and now she had to attend the briefing about the refugee evacuation that was going to begin immediately.  Her mind jolted back to the present when her companion spoke.  

"Master Kenobi told me what happened," Danaé was saying gently.  "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," Mara said sadly.  

"How is Luke managing?"  

Mara had to lock down her feelings instantaneously.  During the five-hour flight from Naboo to Gimna 3 she and Luke had told their Masters all the details of their mission, including the horrible result - but they hadn't revealed what had taken place between them afterward at the inn.  They hadn't even had time to discuss it themselves, and there was no way they were going to talk about with anyone else first.  "Well enough, I guess, all things considered."  

"That's good," Danaé replied.  "And you're doing okay?"

"As well as can be expected, I think," Mara nodded.  "It'll be easier when I can focus on the task at hand, instead of just thinking about it."

"You're right," Danaé agreed, "but you need to be sure you've found some peace.  You could get into real trouble if you're distracted or vulnerable.  I should know." 

"I'm doing my best," Mara said.  "I'll be fine."  

They walked together into the enormous briefing room.  Scanning the crowded auditorium for empty seats, they heard a voice call out to them from the far left.  

"Jade!  Hey, Jade!  Over here!"

They spun around to see a tall, brown-haired Jedi with a neatly trimmed goatee waving at them.  Quickly they made their way through the soldiers and pilots to find a group of four Padawans seated together.  The other three rose to greet them.  One was a young man with white hair.  Another was a red-skinned Mon Calamari female whose big bulging eyes constantly peered around the room.  The fourth was a shorter young human woman with blonde hair and gray eyes.  

"Hey, Halcyon," Mara said when they arrived.  "Good to see you, Solusar.  And you, Cilghal."  With a mental grimace, she inclined her head to the woman.  "Callista."  Any former lover of Luke's was the last person she wanted to see right now, and this one in particular.  Mara had never really liked Callista to begin with - and even though it was well in the past and no threat to Luke's feelings for her at all, it took her full mental strength not to think about the idea of Luke and Callista together.  

"Hi, Mara," Callista smiled obliviously after the others had nodded politely to Mara.  "We heard you and Luke were at Corellia and then got sent somewhere else.  Is he here?"  

Mara slammed down the controls on her emotions again.  "He's around here somewhere, yeah."

"How's he doing?"

_It's none of your business how he's doing!  Stay away from him!  He doesn't want you anymore!  You're nothing to him!  He's mine now!_ screamed Mara's thoughts.  Out loud she said, "He's fine."  

Corran Halcyon leaned around Mara to look at Danaé.  "Hey, why so quiet?  Not gonna say hello?"  

Mara expected to feel a flinch in the Force from Danaé.  Unlike her gregarious and headstrong brother, Danaé was shy and reserved, and she often took simple teasing like this too personally. 

Yet when Danaé spoke, there was no hint of discomfort in the Force.  She truly seemed at ease with herself for the first time in many years.  "Hello, Corran," she laughed.  "Hi, Kam.  Cilghal.  Callista.  It's nice to see you."  

As the others greeted Danaé in return, Mara sensed a murmur in the Force and glanced over to see Luke and Leia walking into the auditorium together.  When Leia glared hard at him and spun away, Mara sent a telepathic message to him.  _Over here_.  

Luke's head bobbed in surprise before he glanced over his shoulder to see her.  Their eyes met, and his blue orbs flickered with uncertainty and reluctance.  He looked like he was about to turn away, but then he shook his head to himself almost imperceptibly and strode toward her.  

---****

Bryon stood on the stage at the front of the large auditorium with his hands clasped behind his back.  Although he had intended to wear his dress-whites uniform to address the assembled soldiers and Navy pilots, with the evacuation operation scheduled to start immediately he wore his shining obsidian-black Special Forces battle armor instead.  He knew without question that he struck an imposing figure for the troops.  

To his left at the podium Admiral Mirkalla and Captain Wedge Antilles were concluding the Navy's part of the mission briefing.  To ensure maximum security and prevent friendly-fire casualties, only Navy transports would ferry soldiers and refugees to and from the orbiting warships during the evacuation.  With quick glances at Captain Solo, Danaé, and his father, he saw their grim acceptance that the _Millennium Falcon_, her Jedi X-Wing, and the _Lady Vader_ would remain docked aboard the _Invictus__._  

Bryon's segment of the briefing was about to begin, and he wondered whether he would be able to go through with it.  His self-doubts still haunted him; his failure on the convoy hung a terrible weight on his heart.  His pulse raced and he began to sweat.  Even a deep breath did not calm him down.  

Bryon closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again and looked to the near wall of the room about halfway up the tiered floor of the auditorium - and there she was.  Sarré wore the red-and-white Naboo military jumpsuit and had tied back her luscious blonde hair in a quartet of combat braids.  Her lavender eyes locked instantly to his and she smiled lovingly. 

A wave of peace washed over him as he held her gaze.  One of the benefits of leading this mission was his authority to make the assignments of tasks on the ground.  Sarré would be at his side the whole time.  He could protect her himself.  And if he needed her, she would be there for him.  He had assigned Captain Solo's team - which really meant Leia - to his unit as well.  

When Sarré blew him a hidden kiss he felt his legs tremble.  But for once not from fear for her safety.  In fact, as he thought about it he realized he had never felt less worried about her.  Mostly it was because he would be with her.  Beyond that, over the last six months their relationship had become so much stronger - and more physically intimate - than it ever had been before, and during that time she increasingly had expanded her combat training beyond the minimum requirements of a Senatorial handmaiden.  While they had trained some together when he was on leaves, for the most part she had dedicated herself to those efforts while he was away on missions.  Her aim with a blaster had reached nearly marksman level.  Her martial arts skill had improved to a degree that she now consistently was able to hold her own with him in practice matches, something many of his soldiers could not do.  Becoming a worthy warrior in her own right, he thought, was her way of feeling close to him even when he was absent.  Any opponent who underestimated her on Gimna 3 would be in for an unpleasant - and probably fatal - surprise.  

As Admiral Mirkalla finished the Navy's presentation, Bryon smiled warmly at Sarré.  She smiled back happily and mouthed _"I love you"_ to him.  He nodded slightly to her, then took a deep breath and strode to the podium.  

"Thank you, Admiral," Bryon said firmly, his deep, rich voice booming in the spacious auditorium.  "As most of you know, I am Major Bryon Skywalker of the Army Special Forces and the commanding officer of the Army units for this operation."  

Bryon briefly scanned the crowd.  To his right, Leia was sitting with Sarré.  In the rear two groups of Jedi Padawans were clustered together, separated by a squad of Navy pilots from a quintet of Masters.  Solo, Chewbacca, and Calrissian were seated in the front with other high-ranking Navy officers from various warships assembled for the evacuation task force.  

"This operation will be a tremendously difficult one," Bryon explained calmly.  "The refugees we are evacuating have been gathered at two spaceports on opposite sides of Gonnolli, the capital city of the planet.  Our regiments of regulars and the battalion of Special Forces have been divided into three teams.  Two teams, which together comprise about three-quarters of our units, will provide defense at these spaceports.  The third, smaller team will protect the Republic personnel being evacuated from the government complex in the city center, which has sizable hangar of its own."  He did not mention that he was leading the third group personally. 

Bryon took another deep breath and glanced quickly at Sarré.  She appeared utterly transfixed by him, her eyes lost in a smitten gaze.  He suppressed his chuckle and continued.   

"We are fortunate to have a small contingent from the Jedi Order present for this operation," Bryon smiled, tipping his head to acknowledge the five Masters sitting in the back of the auditorium.  "The Jedi also will be divided among our three teams and will provide as much assistance and guidance as they are able."  

Bryon unclasped his hands from behind his back and grasped the sides of the podium.  "As Admiral Mirkalla has explained, the evacuation will proceed by continuous round trips by Navy transports from planetside to our vessels in stationary orbit.  Wings of Navy starfighters will provide cover, as will the cannons of the larger warships.  Although the enemy has not yet launched an assault on the planet, we fully expect that such an attack will begin during our evacuation.  We will continue with our operations until we can no longer sustain them within the mission parameters we have established."  

He paused to let the murmur of surprise ripple through the assembled Army troops.  "We will be maintaining a close watch on the status of both our ground and naval forces.  The acceptable loss rate has been agreed at fifty percent.  When attrition either on the ground or among the evacuation ships approaches this percentage, an immediate windup of the operation will be ordered and all forces will be extracted from the planet."  The undercurrent grew even louder - probably because the soldiers had heard him say _when_ and not _if_ the attrition rate reached fifty percent.  

"This operation carries great risk for all of us," he said somberly when he finished his presentation half an hour later.  "Of that there is no doubt.  We have been given the responsibility of saving the lives of as many refugees as possible, and that is what we will do.  The Army of the Republic has served the people of the galaxy proudly for many years, and this evacuation is another chapter in our glorious history.  I know each of you will serve with honor and do your duty."  He scanned the crowd a final time and fixed a determined expression on his face.  "The operation begins immediately.  Proceed to your stations, and may the Force be with you." 

The auditorium erupted with noise as the hundreds of gathered soldiers and pilots rose from their seats and began to file toward the exits, chattering as they did.  After a brief word with Admiral Mirkalla and Captain Antilles, Bryon walked down the four steps from the stage and headed straight for the near wall, where Sarré was descending against the flow of the crowd to meet him.  

When she arrived she took his hands and stretched up on her toes to give him a gentle kiss.  "You did great," she smiled.  "I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks," he nodded shyly.  "It really helped having you here." 

She squeezed his hands and laughed.  "I don't see why, but okay."  

He leaned down so he could speak more quietly through the noise of the exodus.  "I'm sorry we haven't had any time to talk yet," he apologized.  "But it will take a while for the teams to assemble and board the transports.  We're the last ones to board, and you can come with me to the command area in the meantime if you want."

"Sure," she said, wrapping an arm around his waist.  "But I guess we really won't be able to talk alone, though, huh?"

"I don't think so, no," he shook his head.  "I'm sorry.  I mean, if it's really important I can probably get away for minute or two if you want me to try to."

"No, no, it's okay," she insisted.  "It's nothing.  Really.  I just miss having time to be together, you know?"

Bryon looked closely into her eyes and believed her.  "Yeah, I sure do," he sighed.  "Once this mission is over, I'm taking a leave no matter what.  I need time with you, just the two of us, with nothing else to get in the way."

"I'd like that," Sarré grinned.  "I'd like that a lot."

---

Padmé stood behind the desk in her office and gazed out the broad window that overlooked the Senate Building.  The gargantuan domed structure was illuminated by an array of lights, creating a stark contrast with the dark sky of night in the rest of her vista.  Absentmindedly she reached up her hand and her fingers began to twirl the japoor snippet pendant.  

Behind her she heard the quiet rustling of fabric and beaded adornments coming down the hallway and through her open door.  Without turning around she greeted her visitor.  "It's late, Jar Jar.  You should head home."

"Mesa going to, Padmé," the Gungan said agreeably as he arrived at her side and joined her in looking out the window.  "Mesa wanted to see yousa first.  Be sure yousa not needing anything else." 

"I appreciate the offer," she smiled warmly.  "But I've done all I can for today.  I'm waiting for Sabé to stop by, and then I'll be going home too." 

"Mesa stay with yousa, then," Jar Jar declared.  He reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the beads on his robes clattering as he did.  "Wait with yousa."  

"Thank you, Jar Jar," she sighed.  "Thank you."

For a long while they stood in silence, gazing at the nighttime sky, or the Senate Building, or the zipping lines of airspeeder traffic in the distance.  Finally Jar Jar cleared his throat and spoke.  "Mesa remembering the first time wesa here," he said quietly.  "Yousa thinking, yousa people gonna die.  And yousa knew the Senate wouldn't be helping.  Not in time.  So yousa went back to Naboo, and asked mesa for help with the Bosses."  

"I remember that too," Padmé nodded.  "We were standing at a window much like this one when Palpatine arrived to tell us he'd been nominated as Supreme Chancellor."  

Jar Jar pulled her closer reassuringly.  "Mesa thinking, yousa going to be doing something this time too, eh?"  

Padmé's fingers continued to spin and tug at the pendant on its thin chain.  "I think so," she said softly.  "I'm just not sure." 

"Whatever yousa decide, mesa support you.  Mesa always help you."  

"I know," she smiled.  "Your loyalty is one of the most precious gifts I have ever received."  

A gentle knock on the doorframe preceded Sabé's voice.  "Sorry I'm late," the Chancellor Regent said.  "Nalé had a lot more she wanted to talk about than I expected."  

"It's okay," Padmé said.  "I've been able to get some thinking done.  And Jar Jar was here to keep me company."  

"Well, I apologize anyway," Sabé chuckled.  Like Padmé, she still wore her formal gown from the afternoon's session of the Senate.  "Thanks for checking in on her, Jar Jar."  

"Mesa pleasure," the Gungan smiled broadly.  "Always.  Mesa be going home now.  Don't being here too late.  Yousa both need your sleep."  He put a hand on Sabé's shoulder.  "Yousa most of all."  

Sabé nodded.  "Thank you, Jar Jar."  

After a final warm smile and polite bow, their old friend strode out of the office.  

Padmé turned to look out the window again, and Sabé joined her.  After a deep breath Padmé reached out and took one of Sabé's hands.  "I wish we'd been able to contact them again," she whispered.  "Leia and Sarré said they'd try, but I guess they didn't have time."  With her free hand she wiped her eyes.  "Sarré doesn't even know you're Regent.  And Anakin.  I haven't talked to him since Theed.  I really need to know what he thinks about this."__

"I wish you could have spoken with him too, just to reassure you," Sabé said softly.  She squeezed her hand reassuringly.  "He'll do anything for you, Padmé, you know that.  If it's what you want, it's what he wants." 

Padmé nodded weakly.  "I'm so worried," she said.  "I'm so worried something's going to happen.  They're all there.  I'm just so afraid." 

Sabé squeezed her hand comfortingly again, and they shared a mournful gaze.  "I'm worried too," Sabé admitted.  "Sarré and Leia shouldn't even be there.  And Bryon's in the middle of it all.  He's never concerned enough about his own safety.  He can be so reckless sometimes."

Padmé managed a little laugh.  "He gets that from his father."  

Sabé laughed harder.  "No, he gets that from _both_ his parents.  I seem to recall you doing similar things."

"Maybe," Padmé winked.  "Once or twice."

Sabé grinned.  "Once or twice a year, you mean."  

"I wasn't that bad!"  

"Yes, you were."  

Padmé sighed, conceding defeat.  "I suppose I was."  

After a long pause Sabé finally asked the question they had been avoiding.  "What are you going to do?"  

"I'm going to do what I have to do, I guess," Padmé said quietly after a deep breath.  "I can't stand by and do nothing."

"That wouldn't be like you."  

"I know.  I must do my duty.  Anakin would expect no less of me."  She heard his voice in her memories, saying the phrase he had spoken many times over the years.  _"I think the Republic needs you."_

Sabé chuckled.  "You're not doing this for Anakin.  You're doing it because you don't know how to act any other way."

"I didn't really understand it until tonight," Padmé sighed, "but when I resigned from the Senate when I was pregnant with the twins all those years ago, I thought it could never happen.  I made that choice willingly, without regrets.  I thought leaving the Senate then was the end of it.  And I was glad."

"But you've never left politics," Sabé said firmly.  "You may not have been a Senator, but you were more involved than most of those who purportedly represented a star system."

"I know," Padmé said.  "I see that now."  

Sabé released her hand and pulled her into a hug.  "You're really going to do it?"    

"Yes.  I have to."  When the embrace ended, Padmé sat down in her chair and opened one of the desk drawers.  She withdrew a small folder embossed with the Royal Crests of Naboo.  She set the folder in the middle of the smooth dark wooden surface of the desk and ran her fingers along the folder's edges.  Then, with a swift flick of a finger, she broke the wax seal that held the folder closed.  

Sabé rested a hand on Padmé's shoulder.  "I'm here," she said simply.  

Padmé pulled out the single sheet of parchment contained in the folder.  Unlike the durasheets used for ordinary Senate business, the archaic certificate rustled and crinkled in her touch.  She found the traditional stylus and inkwell across her desk and slid them over.  She knew the words by heart, but she read them again anyway.  

Padmé took a deep breath and reached for the stylus.  _I'm sorry, Ani,_ she thought.  _I wanted to tell you first, I promise I did.  I'm sorry.  But this is the only way, and there's no time.  I have to do this.  I'm sorry._  With elegant strokes she signed the document at the bottom, her blue ink writing across a small imprint of the multicolored Royal Crest.  

"I'm proud of you," whispered Sabé gently.  

"Thanks." After another deep breath Padmé tapped the office intercom.  "Jenny?"

"Yes, Padmé?" came her Chief of Staff's voice from the speaker.  

"Contact the Royal Palace and request the earliest possible audience for a transmission to Theed."

"Of course.  Right away."  

"Inform Queen Vivonia that I have invoked the Regal Prerogative." 

For a long moment there was no reply from Jenny.  "Understood.  I'll let you know as soon as it's scheduled."  

Padmé stood up again when the intercom clicked off.  "I hope Ani understands."

"He will," Sabé reassured her firmly.  "I know he will."  

Padmé sighed forlornly and let her eyes fall on the illuminated Senate Building across the ferrocrete plaza from the office.  "It's been almost twenty-five years," she said softly.  "It will take a while to get used to this."

"It sure will," Sabé said.  "It's been so long since I thought of you as Amidala."


	12. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Major Bryon Skywalker pondered the news he had just received over the comlink in his helmet.  After fifteen hours of grueling activity, the evacuation operation on Gimna 3 was approaching the mission parameters.  Although the Navy had done an admirable job of keeping the Vyhrragian fleet at bay for several more hours than the battle plan had predicted, now the enemy had broken through the Republic's lines and the momentum in the fighting had shifted.  Too many refugee transports were being lost before they reached the warships in orbit.  The Navy's air superiority over Gonnolli was broken.  And although the three evacuation sites still were fully protected, the enemy had been able to land several regiments of infantry on the outskirts.  The brownshirts were making their way toward all three sites and soon the planet's capital city would fall to Argis' legions. 

He spoke quickly into his comlink microphone.  "Command, what is the status at Snow and Wind sites?" 

"The last transports can be launched within five minutes.  All ground units have returned to base."  

All the refugees who could be taken, had been.  He had no choice but to leave the rest behind.  "Understood, Command," said Bryon calmly.  "Order them away at once."

"Copy, Major."  The voice of the communications officer paused.  "The order has been given."

"Copy, Command.  What is the status at Rain site?"  

"Gamma and Sigma squads arrived moments ago.  Their transports will leave shortly.  That leaves only Beta squad and you to be extracted.  Beta squad is eight minutes out."

"Excellent, Command," Bryon smiled.  "Give the recall order to return to Rain site, if there are any stragglers still out there.  Alpha squad is twelve minutes out, give or take.  Tell Beta to leave immediately, and we'll get out when we can.  And instruct the Navy to begin the final exit strategies now."

"Copy, Major," the voice replied.  

"Copy, Command," Bryon said.  "Alpha squad out."  

Bryon turned over his shoulder toward the group following him.  Nearly three hundred refugees filled the width of the boulevard in a disorganized column.  Two dozen black-armored Special Forces soldiers and thirty gray-armored regulars formed a loose protective perimeter around the civilians.  At his side Sarré and Leia were on alert for brownshirts, as were Solo, Calrissian, and Chewbacca.  The sight of the two tiny women in red-and-white Naboo military jumpsuits was an almost comical contrast to the grim black Navy covert operations fatigues the two men wore - to say nothing of the towering Wookiee, who managed to make even Bryon look small.  

"This is it," Bryon said to them.  "We've done all we can."

Leia glanced up and frowned.  "This is the last trip, then?"  

"Yes," Bryon nodded.  "We can't hold them off any longer."  

"So many will be left behind," his sister said in anguish.  

"That's true, of course," Sarré said, "but think about how much longer this has lasted than we thought going in.  We've saved hundreds more refugees than we believed was possible."  

"Thousands, actually," Bryon pointed out, "if you include all three evacuation sites."  

"I know," Leia sighed.  "But that's little consolation to the ones who will end up Argis' prisoners.  Or dead." 

"If I could help them I would," Bryon said.  "We've done our best.  It's all we can do."

---

"Be quiet," Threepio chastised as he banged his metal fingers on the dome of the black-and-gold astromech at his side.  "I don't know how you expect me to hear the announcements from the communications officers on the bridge when you keep babbling on and on."  

Jaytoo spun his dome from side to side and honked angrily.  "No, I certainly do not see any irony at all," Threepio replied.  "I don't know what you're talking about."  

Jaytoo blooped in resignation and waited.  A moment later the golden protocol droid turned around to face him.  "It seems that the Republic's losses are approaching mission parameters," he explained.  "Master Bryon has given the order to terminate the operation and begin immediately the final removal of all the units on the ground."  

The astromech beeped and whistled.  "Yes, I suppose it is about time," Threepio decided.  "This operation has been going on for many hours now.  The soldiers must be entirely exhausted.  Humans are not designed for this kind of strenuous exertion for such long periods of time, you know."  

Jaytoo blooped a query.  "I'm not sure," Threepio said.  He walked toward the railing of the gallery on which the two droids stood, which overlooked the bridge of the Republic Navy destroyer _Invictus_ and the frantic efforts of the military officers to organize the last stage of the evacuation mission.  "Yes, we should be able to see well enough from here.  Come on.  Take a look for yourself." 

With a grumpy honk, Jaytoo rolled over and tipped his cylindrical body to look down at the hectic floor of the bridge below.  After a few seconds, he bleeped and whistled.  "I know," Threepio said.  "Droids would never let the circumstances become so chaotic."

---

The five Jedi and one astromech droid gathered in a small circle in the wide central corridor of the main government headquarters building in Gonnolli, the capital city of Gimna 3.  The elegant stone floors and walls were faintly illuminated by the dim emergency glowdiscs far above on the ceiling.  The building's hangar, two levels below, had served for the previous hours as Rain site, one of three sites for the Republic's evacuation of the planet.  With the last two groups of refugees on their way to the hangar under the protection of Alpha and Beta squads of Republic Army soldiers, it was time for the Jedi to determine their most effective role in the final minutes of the desperate operation.  

Danaé felt a glimmer of anxiety as she observed the others.  Watching her father and Master Kenobi in action this day had been a marvel, showing her more clearly than ever why they were considered two of the greatest Jedi ever to serve the Order.  For endless hours the pair had managed the flow of countless groups of refugees through the building, quickly and smoothly boarding each transport and keeping the crowds calm and controlled in the meantime.  Many times Danaé had lost track of which group would board which transport, or which starship would be the next to depart or arrive, or which squad of Army regulars would be sent out to retrieve more refugees and which would stay behind as security - but not once had she seen either of them the least bit flustered.  The two Masters, dressed in their matching tan robes, looked the perfect picture of Jedi confidence and insight and leadership.  Master Kenobi absentmindedly stroked his neatly trimmed white beard as her father unconsciously ran his fingers through his short gray hair.  For a moment she wondered if the Sith had any idea what they were up against.  

She also was fighting her incipient jealousy of their equally inspiring apprentices.  Mara stood at her Master's side in her crimson-and-black robes, freely offering her thoughts and suggestions in the discussion without even a hint of caution or nervousness.  Danaé had decided hours ago she would give anything for self-confidence like that.  And her brother Luke seemed similarly at ease as he stood patiently awaiting his instructions, calmly and deliberately tightening the fit of his indigo robes to pass the time.  The two Padawans drew strength from their Masters' composure in the midst of the raging battle for the planet taking place not far beyond the walls of this stone building.  Danaé envied them their poise; perhaps if Master Windu were here with her she would be able to find that kind of tranquility too.  But he wasn't, and she was on her own.  

"We must hold this facility until Alpha and Beta squads arrive and the final transports depart," Master Kenobi was saying.  "Unfortunately we lack a sufficient number of soldiers to secure the front of the building until then.  And we also must make a final check of the building itself to ensure that no one is inadvertently left behind."  

Anakin nodded.  "What is our last report about enemy units in the area?" 

"Several regiments of brownshirts already have reached the inner neighborhoods of the city and are progressing gradually toward our position," Master Kenobi replied.  "The units for the most part are some distance away, but the Army anticipates a few squads might be able to reach us before the final departure takes place."  

"That's manageable enough," Anakin said.  "Mara and I will head to the front plaza and hold them off, then.  As long as we're not going to be facing whole battalions, we'll be fine."  

"That seems unlikely," Obi-Wan agreed.  "Very well.  Luke and Danaé, why don't you perform the final pass through the hallways?  There shouldn't be anyone there, and you shouldn't have to investigate each room - your perceptions will tell you if someone is near.  Luke, you can take the north wing, and Danaé the south."  

"Of course, Master," Luke nodded.  

Danaé nodded too, pushing away her incipient fretfulness by running her fingertips through the top layers of folds in her tan robes.  "Yes, Master Kenobi."  

"You're with me, Artoo," said Master Kenobi to the droid.  "We'll make sure all goes smoothly in the hangar."  Artoo blooped and whistled a happy acknowledgement.  

"No time to waste," Anakin said.  "May the Force be with us."  

With a final set of nods around the circle, the Jedi headed off to their separate tasks.  From the corner of her eye Danaé thought she caught a glimpse of Mara and Luke turning back over their shoulders to share a quick gaze, but in a flash the look was gone and Danaé wondered if it had been simply an illusion.  She certainly hadn't detected anything in the Force - but then again it hadn't occurred to her to check if they were shielding.  

Crossing through the wide, arching entryway to the main corridor of the building's south wing, Danaé shrugged.  It probably was her imagination anyway.  And if it wasn't, she didn't really want to know.  

---

Alpha squad and its refugees had made several more minutes of excellent progress when their good fortune ended.  From a side street several dozen meters ahead a squad of twenty enemy soldiers in tan body armor over green fatigues rounded the corner and opened fire on the approaching group.  For the first time since the group had departed for the hangar a quarter hour earlier, the retorts of blaster fire shook the street.  

"Battle formations, now!" ordered Bryon instinctively.  With frightened screams from the refugees filling their ears, he and several other Special Forces soldiers surged a few meters ahead of the column, interposing their shining black battle armor between the brownshirts and the innocent civilians.  Snapping his heavy blaster rifle to his shoulder, he sighted one of the enemies and squeezed the trigger.  The man was struck squarely in the chestplate and propelled backwards as if he had collided full speed into a brick wall.  

"Okay, fire!" he heard Captain Solo say from behind.  As they had practiced, the three Navy officers, his sister, and Sarré had taken up firing positions staggered between the shoulders of the armored Special Forces troops.  Without body armor themselves, they lessened their chances of being hit while being able to contribute a good number of shots at the enemy.  And Bryon wanted all the help he could get - the quicker they finished off their attackers, the sooner they could get to work at keeping the refugee group from devolving into a panicked, uncontrollable mob. 

Bryon squeezed his trigger again and dropped another brownshirt.  Blaster bolts zinged past his shoulders from behind and incoming shots from the enemy slammed into the ferrocrete pavement of the street or sailed harmlessly over his head.  "Keep it up," he ordered firmly.  "We're really taking it to them."  

He took three more quick shots and three more brownshirts fell.  His men had taken out many of the others, and a few bolts from the five shooters behind him had killed several more.  In only a matter of seconds the brownshirts' numbers had been reduced to only a half dozen.  

For a moment Bryon actually wondered whether the brownshirts would retreat - but he knew better.  He had never seen them retreat before, and they wouldn't this time either.  In fact, considering that the Vyhrragians were about to conquer this planet, retreat from a firefight probably was the last thing on the enemy's mind.  

One enemy blaster bolt whipped past his shoulder and into the frightened, unruly throng behind him.  Miraculously it sounded as though no one had been hit - and Bryon began to wish he had a Jedi or two on hand to provide a defensive barrier for the refugees.  But the Jedi were back at Rain site coordinating the transport evacuations, and unless they had suddenly developed the ability to use the Force to teleport he was on his own.  

A final squeeze of his trigger dropped another brownshirt just as shots from his men killed the rest.  "Well done," he cheered.  "Great shooting!"  

The Special Forces troopers saluted, jogged back to rejoin the protective perimeter around the refugee column, and began to assist the other soldiers in reassuring and calming the mass of trembling civilians.  His sister stayed at his shoulder and looked up at him.  "That won't be the last of them," Leia grumbled.  

"Unfortunately, no," Bryon said.  "They probably were one of the advance squads.  It's too soon for the large groups of them to get this far into the city, but I'm sure there are other scouting squads like this one between us and the hangar.  We'll have to fight them off again, I'm sure."  

"I figured as much," Leia frowned.  "So I guess the only thing we can do is try to hurry?"  

"That's right," Bryon nodded.  "Alpha squad," he said into his comlink, "let's see if we can pick up the pace here.  Try to get the refugees to go a little faster.  Let's go!"  

"You think we'll make it, Major?" asked Solo.  

"I know better than to lay odds for you, Captain," Bryon chuckled.  "But I can tell you that every second counts." 

---

Padmé stood in front of the large mirror in the antechamber of the refresher in her Senate office suite, carefully checking the stability and form of the complex braids and weaves that held her long brown hair upraised in an elaborate Naboo style above and around her head.  Many years had passed since she last had put her hair up this way, and back then she'd always had several handmaidens to assist.  It wasn't perfect, but for having done it herself she thought it looked pretty good.  

The voice of her Chief of Staff came from behind her.  "Please, Padmé.  Really," sighed Jenny in frustration.  "How do you expect me to do this if you keep moving?"  

"Sorry," Padmé apologized softly.  Jenny was tying up the last of the laces and cords that held the waist and bodice of her formal gown in place.  Padmé stood up straight and let her hands fall to her sides.  She felt gentle but firm tugs as Jenny ensured the fit was snug and comfortable.  The pushes and pulls finally ended and Jenny reached out to pat her on the shoulders.  

"All done," Jenny said.  "_Now_ we can make sure the hair is right." 

Padmé chuckled and smiled.  For never having undergone the formal Naboo handmaiden training, Jenny played the part with as much vigor and skill - and backtalk - as Sabé or Dormé ever did.  "This over here," she said as she reached up above her left shoulder, "just doesn't seem to be holding the way it should."

"Let me see," Jenny replied soothingly, stretching up to work her fingers into the tucks and twists of the braids.  Sure enough, a moment later she pulled on a segment of strands and a subtle shift in the pattern fell into its proper place.  "Perfect.  Anything else?"  

Padmé appraised herself in the mirror.  "I don't think so.  It looks okay, and it feels about right."

"Time to do your face, then."

"Yes, it is."  

Jenny slid the small black shaak-leather case across the marble counter and flipped open the lid.  She passed Padmé a powder puff and took another for herself.  

Before they could begin, Padmé put her hand on Jenny's arm.  "No, I've got it.  Go check the comlink again.  That will help me more right now."  

Jenny met her eyes in the mirror, smiled tenderly, and nodded.  She did not say a word, leaving unspoken their mutual fears about the evacuation operation at Gimna 3.  The mission had been underway for many hours, and there had been no word at all from the front.  No one had checked in - not Anakin or Obi-Wan, not Luke or Danaé or Mara, not Leia or Bryon or Sarré.  It was taking a considerable amount of willpower for both of them to perform the tasks at hand and not simply fall into an uncontrollable fit of fidgeting and pacing.  

Padmé was just finishing with her face when Jenny returned.  "Nothing, I assume?"

"No," her dear friend said regretfully.  "I'm sorry."

Padmé turned to face her and smiled.  "It's not as though we could've missed the comlink signal.  Considering we have it set on maximum volume, we'll probably be deafened if it actually sounds," she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood just a little.  "But I appreciate you humoring me."  

"Of course," Jenny said.  "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No.  Thank you."

"Are you ready, then?  Should I inform the security team?"

"Not just yet," Padmé sighed, reaching her hand up to the japoor snippet pendant resting just where the gown ended and her skin began.  "First I need a few minutes alone."

---

Anakin and Mara strode out the grand doors of the government building.  The massive iron doors were covered with ornate patterns of indigenous flora and fauna and inlaid with glittering precious metals and sparkling gemstones.  The three-meter tall portal swung open automatically as they arrived, revealing the broad plaza beyond.  In the distance the signs of the Vyhrragian invasion of the planet were readily apparent - billowing smoke rose over the skyline of the capital city, echoes of remote detonations whispered in their ears, and countless starfighters and gunships and transports flew through the darkening sky of dusk lit by hundreds of tiny zips of laser fire.   

Master and Padawan passed the six enormous columns along the building's façade and began to descend the wide steps cut from the same native gray stone as the columns and the exterior architecture of the building.  In front of them the plaza expanded in all directions, so anyone approaching the structure would have to cross nearly three hundred meters of stone tiles.  

Scattered around the plaza were a number of tall trees, the soaring trunks and expansive canopies of green leaves casting absurdly long shadows in the dimming light of the late evening sun.  Two rows of gigantic statues formed something of a promenade down the middle of the plaza to the main doors of the building.  And here and there on the plaza were fountains that sprayed water high into the air above wide basins.  

It took Anakin only a moment to assess the viability of defending the government building from the inevitable attack across the plaza.  While soldiers with blaster rifles would be distressed by the lack of obstacles and cover for defenders to exploit against approaching enemies, to a pair of Jedi the expansive open area was ideal.  There was plenty of room to move and many unobstructed lanes through which incoming blaster fire could be redirected back at their opponents.  Best of all, though, was the fact that the brownshirts would have a clear view of the two Jedi - and would no doubt find their morale collapsing as they witnessed the intimidating skill of the pair.  

A few paces from the base of the steps Anakin stopped and turned to his apprentice.  "Not bad," he said.  "We should be able to work with this."  

Mara scanned the plaza too.  "I agree, Master.  The exposed nature of any attack works to our advantage."  

Anakin nodded.  "I expect we will face large groups of brownshirts," he said.  "It has been quite some time since we last used group decimation tactics, and unfortunately we did not have time for any practice.  I think we should form a battle meld to maximize our cooperation."  

Inexplicably she glanced over sharply.  "Do you really think that's necessary, Master?"  

Anakin detected an unusual amount of reluctance emanating from her in the Force.  It seemed entirely out of character for her.  Previously she always had enjoyed fighting alongside him in the unison that a battle meld provided, and she even had cooperated that way with Luke on a few occasions.  So he had no idea what could have caused this sudden change of heart.  "Not necessary, perhaps," he replied after a moment, "but it would be wise.  If we were better prepared we would not need it, but in these circumstances I think we must use every method at our disposal to ensure we are complementing each other as much as possible during the combat." 

Mara's eyes were intensely studying her boots.  "You're right, Master," she said softly.  She took a slow, deep breath, then met his eyes again.  "I'm ready."  

Anakin opened his mind to the Force, drawing strength from the life energy flowing around them.  The currents of the Force were churning and boiling with kinetic energy as the enemy's fierce onslaught of the capital city continued unabated.  A series of four deep breaths cleared his mind and calmed his thoughts.  Then Anakin stretched out his feelings to Mara, brushing his awareness over hers reassuringly.  He felt her respond in kind, latching her perceptions to his and pushing her confidence and composure to the fore in her mind.  After a long moment of simple joy at the peace their renewed connection brought to both of them, Anakin sensed her readiness.  

Their perceptions of each other, their surroundings, and the Force surged with renewed vitality as the deep, intense bond of the battle meld formed between their minds.  Together they shared a mental smirk - this seemed almost like cheating.  The enemy didn't stand a chance against them now.  

---

Padmé paced over to the tall and wide window behind her desk and looked down at the illuminated dome of the Galactic Senate building across the plaza from her office.  She didn't want to go there tonight and deliver the address she had written in self-imposed solitary confinement during the last six hours.  She simply didn't want to do this.  Let someone else.  Why did it have to be her?  Why?  

Seeing the reflection of her face in the smooth transparisteel of the window, however, Padmé knew the answer.  No one else could do this.  It was her destiny.  Trying to deny that simple and profound truth would only bring more pain and suffering.  She didn't have to like it.  She just had to accept it.  

Padmé stared into the round, sad, frightened brown eyes of the reflection in the window and saw the young girl who unwittingly had embarked on the path she now had traveled for over thirty years.  In the legislative youth program she had been a proud and fierce idealist, convinced beyond doubt that good people working diligently in service to others could change her planet and the galaxy for the better.  Enthusiasm and energy and faith were all that was required to solve problems and bring justice and happiness to all.  

It was difficult to believe that she had been only fourteen, and Queen of Naboo less than a year, when the blockade crisis had turned her universe upside down.  As the dispute with the Trade Federation had escalated, she simply had refused to accept that war would come.  It just wouldn't.  But it had come anyway, and she barely had escaped her planet with her life - only to arrive at Coruscant and learn that the Senate, the institution she had respected as the seat of wisdom and righteousness in the Republic, would do nothing.  So she had returned to Naboo, struck an impossible alliance with the Gungans, and liberated their planet from the invaders.  Many had died to preserve freedom and democracy on Naboo.  And while they had not given their lives in vain, they had given them needlessly.  It shouldn't have happened at all, but the Republic had failed and Naboo had paid the price.  

Without the blockade crisis Amidala would have been a good Queen, Padmé had decided long ago, a fair and wise ruler.  But also fully unremarkable in her leadership, a name on the list of monarchs remembered for little else than her service.  Instead Amidala was a legend, a heroine, practically a deity in some circles - all because fate had thrown her into the abyss of war.  

It was equally difficult to believe that she had been only twenty-two when she had returned to Coruscant as Naboo's Senator.  Just as her second term as Queen had ended, Palpatine's successor as Senator had died.  Padmé had refused to run in the election, but her people had elected her anyway on write-in votes.  She could not refuse that mandate to serve, even though it had cost her the simple, private life to which she had hoped finally to return.  Then, despite her strongest and best efforts on the Loyalist committee, the Separatist crisis had escalated from economic dispute to military standoff to civil war.  In the midst of all of that she and Anakin had found each other again.  

And then she had learned the terrible, awful truth about her life - that it had been manipulated by Palpatine, by Darth Sidious, all along.  The blockade crisis had been a mere tool to get Palpatine elected Chancellor.  Her predecessor had been murdered to make way for the write-in campaign organized by Palpatine himself.  The Separatist insurrection was a Sith machination to enable Palpatine to claim dictatorial powers and declare an Empire.  And Anakin's assignment to protect her had been contrived to exploit the will of the Force - to ensure that they would fall in love - to drive a wedge between Anakin and the Jedi Order - to turn Anakin to the dark side of the Force - to destroy them both forever.  

But Palpatine had underestimated the power of their love, and it had led to his destruction.  The insurrection was defeated, the Republic preserved, and their love sustained against the darkness.  In the aftermath of those events Padmé had chosen to take control of her life again - to prevent the Sith, even in death, from choosing her fate.  Pregnant with the twins, she had resigned her Senate seat and grabbed on with all her heart to the family life of which she always had dreamed.  Of course her post in academia had not taken her far from politics, not really, but for the last twenty years her life had been hers and hers alone.  

Padmé blinked and shifted her gaze from her reflection to the Senate dome.  Now everything had come full circle.  The Sith were back and once again bent on galactic domination.  War raged in the Mid Rim as the Republic sought to hold together against the depredations of the Vyhrragian armies.  Many lives were being lost, not in vain but needlessly, to end the menace of Argis and the Sith.  

And once again her life was no longer her own.  Just as Palpatine had drawn her to play an unknowing part in his web of deceit and betrayal, so too the new Sith had chosen her fate for her.  She did not know how or why, but somehow the Sith had shaped events to bring her to the center.  She didn't want to do this - but how could she refuse the Republic, and Naboo, and her family in their moment of greatest need?  

With a weak smile she looked at her reflection again.  At least this time she knew the Sith were manipulating events, even if she could not know precisely their designs and purposes.  This time she could stay alert for trick and traps and complex patterns of intrigue.  This time she might be able to turn the tide against the Sith by beating them at their own game and anticipating their strategies.  This time she and Anakin knew who the real enemy was, and maybe that could make all the difference.  

She reached up her fingertips to the transparisteel and touched the cheek of her reflection.  "Why is it," Padmé whispered to herself, "that I must always be a pawn in some evil game?  Why can't Ani know what to do, so it doesn't come to this?  Why must my destiny be chosen by the dark rather than the light?"  

Padmé let her hand fall to her side again.  She took a long, slow, deep breath before she turned around to face the interior of her office.  Leaning forward only slightly, she rested her palms on the cool, smooth surface of her desk and took another soothing breath.  Then she clenched her fists, stood tall, and strode purposefully out the door.  

---

A desperate undercurrent of incessant, apprehensive murmuring rose from the refugee column as it moved through the streets of Gonnolli at a moderate pace borne of barely contained terror, too slow to jog but too fast to be a stroll.  From all her years keeping up with Bryon's lengthy strides, though, Sarré had no trouble matching the group's speed.  Like the other soldiers guarding the unarmed civilians, the handmaiden kept her eyes on the windows and rooftops and her finger hovering over the trigger of her blaster rifle.  The operation had gone remarkably well so far, and Sarré had only had to fire her rifle a half dozen times.  That was perfectly fine with her, although part of her still had the urge to blast something.  

Sarré's thoughts were interrupted when she heard Corporal Brittin hustle up beside her.  The timid brunette was actually almost two years older than she and Bryon, although it was easy to forget that with her constantly fretful and self-conscious demeanor.  Sarré hadn't really spoken to her all that many times over the months she had served as Bryon's aide, but Bryon seemed satisfied enough with her abilities and that was all Sarré cared about.  "Hi, Kessa," she said amiably.  

"Hi, Sarré," the corporal replied.  The young woman looked shyly away, then met Sarré's eyes again.  "I just wanted to tell you that I'm really glad you were here for this mission."  

That wasn't what Sarré had expected at all.  She bit her lip to keep her jaw from gaping and raised her eyebrows.  "What makes you say that?" 

"Major Skyw - Bryon," Kessa said reluctantly.  "He's so different when you're around.  He's calmer.  Less angry.  More deliberate.  I guess he's just in control more."  

Sarré continued to look at Kessa in confusion.  "What are you talking about?  I thought he got great evaluations for his judgment and leadership?"  

"Oh, he does.  The best," Kessa nodded.  "It's not that he makes bad decisions.  It's just. I guess. the way he makes them.  He's normal today.  In control.  He's not."  Her voice trailed off and she looked away.  

"He's not what?"  Sarré was beginning to feel very nervous.  "Tell me.  Please."  

"It's nothing," Kessa insisted.  "It's just that the longer it's been since he's seen you, the worse he gets.  His temper gets shorter.  And when he does get angry he's more. I don't know."  

The revelation nearly knocked the wind from Sarré's lungs.  "You're afraid of him, aren't you?"  

"Sometimes, yeah," Kessa admitted quietly, clearly worried about Sarré's reaction.  "Especially when he misses you the most."  

"And others feel this way too?" 

"Well, not Will Graff or. or. Allitisi or Krannar before they died.  But the sergeants and privates?  Yeah, a lot of them are. I guess. pretty intimidated by him.  Afraid what he'll do if they fail him, you know?" 

Sarré was completely stunned.  She almost stopped in place, but somehow she managed to keep her feet moving.  How could Bryon frighten anyone?  He was so gentle and sweet and kind.  She knew the war was starting to wear down his spirit, but he always seemed to be refreshed and content when they were together.  He had told her about some terrible missions, about the gut-wrenching decisions he had been forced to make, about the pain and suffering and death he saw far too often.  She had assumed that all of this anguish must have had an effect on him when he was out in the thick of the fighting, but it had never occurred to her that he could be frightening - especially not to his own men.  She had trouble finding the words.  "Okay. um. can you give me an example, maybe?"  

Kessa's eyes flickered in anxiety.  "Right before we left for Alderaan and all of that, there was a false alarm at the Senate.  The Kuati delegation got caught with concealed blasters.  And Major Skywalker interrogated the Kuati security chief.  He was really angry, you know?  It was really stupid of the Kuatis, and it caused a lot of disruption and panic at the Senate.  And he just took out all of his frustrations on their security chief."  

Sarré's stomach turned over.  "Are you. he.  You're saying that he hurt him?"  

"Yes," Kessa said warily.  "I mean, I don't think he did anything outside his authority under the circumstances.  It was possible there might have been an assassination attempt planned or something, so he had pretty wide discretion to do what he thought was necessary to get at the truth."

"Sure," Sarré nodded, biting back her fear.  "But what did he _do_?  It obviously bothers you a lot."  

"He pinned him to the wall.  He put a hand around his throat and almost choked him."  Kessa glanced away, unable to look Sarré in the face as she spoke.  "When he didn't like one answer he broke three of the Kuati's fingers just to make him scream and give in.  I mean, it worked.  We found out what was going on - it's classified or I'd tell you.  But I. I. I was really scared of him then, you know?"  

Sarré swallowed hard.  That wasn't interrogation - that was torture.  She had no idea Bryon had become so far out of control.  Now more than ever she knew he needed that leave he had promised after the mission briefing, and she needed that time alone with him to get him to admit everything to her so she could help him.  "I'm really sorry," she finally said forlornly.  "I had no idea.  I really didn't." 

"It's okay," Kessa smiled weakly.  "I should have said something sooner.  I just didn't have the chance and. I guess I didn't know what to say.  I'm sorry too."  

"Don't be," Sarré insisted.  She reached out and put her hand on the young woman's shoulder.  "Thank you for telling me, Kessa.  Thank you for being honest.  I'll do everything I can to help him, I promise."  

"I know you will," Kessa said.  "He really needs you right now.  I think he's afraid to tell you how much."  

Sarré wondered if she heard a twinge of jealousy in Kessa's voice, but decided to leave that issue for another time.  "Because he's afraid of what I'd think, you mean?" 

"No," Kessa shook her head.  "Because he's afraid of himself."

---

Danaé walked quickly down the deserted hallway of the government building.  The raging battle for control of the city had knocked out the energy generators some time ago, so only the dim emergency glowdiscs cast any light along her path.  The air was eerily still, as if this were nothing more than a quiet evening after the employees had returned to their homes.  And deep inside the immense stone structure the noises of the massive firefight could not be heard.  

To a Jedi, though, there was no mistaking the truth.  The Force swirled and churned as violently and frenetically as Danaé had ever experienced.  Thousands of individuals were fighting and dying in the city, while hundreds of refugees hurried in fear to reach the evacuation transports.  The impressions of panic and anger and determination and aggression were palpable.  

Her eyes and ears were alert for any signs of officials or refugees who might have become lost or fallen behind during the chaotic process of bringing countless groups of varying sizes to the main hangar.  The hallway and the offices and conference rooms along it were empty as she passed by.  

Danaé dropped her mind more deeply into the Force and extended her perceptions.  Rather than using it to enhance her eyesight or hearing, however, she focused on searching the energy fields for the distinctive signatures radiating from sentients.  Probing and interpreting the living Force always had been her greatest strength, and now was the perfect time to take advantage of that expertise.  

In her awareness she felt a multitude of life within the building.  Tiny insects roamed within its walls.  Indigenous birds roosted on window ledges and the rooftop.  Beneath the stone floors she detected a dazzling array of creatures in the soil, from worms and grubs to burrowing mammals and snakes.  And throughout the facility there were hundreds of plants, from small flowers and ferns in individual offices to the large terrariums found in several courtyards ahead of and behind her.  

Danaé tuned out the emanations from these lifeforms and focused her scanning of the Force for signs of humans or aliens who might still be present.  As she continued to walk along the hallway away from the central corridors that led to the main hangar, she was relieved to find no one.  Perhaps the hustling of the crowds through the building had gone smoothly after all.  

A few more strides down the hallway Danaé detected something a short distance away.  She picked up her pace and surged her feelings toward the flickering presence.  

Yes, she'd definitely found someone.  A human, she thought.  A human - tired and scared and hopeless.  

In the Force Danaé plotted a path toward the presence, letting her perceptions guide her feet as she rushed further down the hallway, then turned into one side corridor, then into another.  

As she approached she called out.  "I'm on my way," she shouted.  "I'm coming.  Don't be afraid."   

The presence seemed to brighten.  Danaé smiled and jogged onward.  "I'll be right there."  

Finally she arrived at the location of the presence.  Beneath a dim glowdisc she saw the figure waiting for her.  He was a tall human male, middle-aged, with shoulder-length curly black hair and a black beard and moustache, all shot through with gray.  He wore a black tunic and pants, black boots and gloves, and held a glittering silver lightsaber handle in his right hand.  The face that had haunted her memories for a year was smiling broadly at her.  

Danaé stopped in her tracks and gasped.  

The smile grew even broader.  "Hello, Danaé," he said.  "We meet again at last."

---

Luke proceeded deliberately through the darkened hallway, ignoring the dim illumination of the glowdiscs and extending his Force perceptions in a wide cone ahead of him.  So far he had found no one in the building, as had been the Jedi's expectation.  In a few minutes his sweep through the corridors would be completed, and he would return to the hangar - and to Mara.  He continued to scan the hallway and adjoining rooms as he strode onward.  

Suddenly from behind he sensed an incandescent nova of power reveal itself in the Force.  He was alone in the hallway - his perceptions had told him that.  How could someone be there?  Unless.  Even as the shock of the instantaneous emergence registered in his mind, he knew it was possible only if someone purposely had released a previously flawless, impenetrable shielding.  

Simultaneously he heard the distinctive snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting.  

Luke snatched his weapon to his hand, activated the blue blade, and spun on his heel.  Facing him about two meters away was a tall woman with a blazing scarlet laser sword.  She wore a black tunic and pants, black boots and gloves, and a billowing black cloak with the hood drawn down.  Her black hair hung straight around her shoulders and her piercing brown eyes fixed him with a chilling stare.  He couldn't tell her age, though her bearing was strong and confident and at the very least she seemed older than the young Sith he had slain on Xixus six months ago.  

The sinister woman did not say a word.  She stood motionless, the only sound the humming of the two lightsabers.  The grim stare continued, seeming to bore straight to the depths of his soul.  

Luke gripped his blade in two hands and set his feet in a stance of readiness.  He blinked away his surprise and took a deep breath.  Stretching his feelings into the Force, he drew on its energy for strength and smoothed away the tension in his muscles.  He had prepared many times for this moment and tried his best to believe he was truly ready.  

A wicked grin crossed the Sith's face.  "Nothing to say, Jedi?"  

Luke barely managed to suppress his flinch at the unnerving fire crackling around the edges of her contralto voice.  "No," he said simply.  

The Sith only winked.  "It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, young Skywalker."

---****

Only a few minutes after he and Mara had formed the battle meld Anakin saw the first squads of Vyhrragian soldiers enter the far side of the plaza, jogging forward in formation at a brisk pace.  The troopers wore the distinctive attire of the brownshirts: tan body armor over green fatigues.  They carried their heavy blaster rifles at the ready.  

Drawing upon his perceptions in the Force he determined there were nearly fifty enemy soldiers on the way.  That wouldn't be troublesome.  He and Mara had defeated many more than that number previously.  And once, in fact, he and Mace Windu single-handedly had defeated an entire regiment of nearly five hundred, although those unfortunate opponents had not been as well trained as Argis' elite shocktroops.  Given the need to defeat these squads as quickly as possible before reinforcements arrived, he found his next decision was an easy one.  

"Mara," he said, igniting his turquoise laser sword, "it is time to see how much you have learned."  

She looked over at him in surprise as she activated her violet blade.  "I'm sorry, Master?" 

"The most effective method will be for us to employ Vaapad."  Over several decades Master Windu had developed and perfected the seventh Form of lightsaber combat.  Its swift, precise, powerful movements allowed a Jedi to dominate any fight.  It also required intense levels of concentration that only the finest saber masters could sustain.  And most controversially it involved an unparalleled combat focus combined with aggressive tactics and offensive strategies that ran the risk of bringing its user perilously close to the bloodthirsty exhilaration of the dark side.  For this reason only the most talented and trusted Jedi were trained in Vaapad.  

His apprentice raised her eyebrows, then smiled.  "Yes, Master.  I'm ready."  

Anakin nodded firmly.  In the battle meld the pair prepared their thoughts and calmed their feelings to carry out the Vaapad techniques with total serenity.  As the brownshirts reached firing range, Anakin nodded again.  "Let's hold our ground first, until they give up on the charge."  

Mara tipped her head in agreement as the first blaster bolts streaked toward them.  Her purple lightsaber flashed and arced through the air, deflecting away incoming fire with ease.  His blue weapon did the same, slicing brilliant, shimmering circles of light in front of him.  Side by side, the two Jedi stood in place and let the soldiers continue onward.  Not a single bolt got through their defenses.  

Once the brownshirts drew within twenty meters, the pair wordlessly executed the first change in strategy.  Almost imperceptible flicks of their wrists and snaps of their two-handed grips began to propel blaster bolts straight back into the encroaching squads of enemy troops.  The deflected bolts were not as accurate as a shot fired by a rifle, but many struck home nonetheless.  With each passing second the squads drew closer - and lost more members.  

About fifteen meters away the enemy officers halted the charge.  Without any cover to set up behind, the first row of brownshirts dropped to a knee to allow the second row to fire over them.  The amount of incoming blaster fire doubled, but Anakin and Mara did not even notice.  Immersed in the Force and flowing with the power of Vaapad, the ease of their defense was almost comical.  

Yet they could not prevail this way either.  Anakin looked to Mara and grinned mischievously.  Simultaneously the two Jedi charged forward, their lightsabers forming whirling discs of light as they advanced on the enemy formation with Force-powered speed.  In their joined awareness they could sense a surge of panic from the brownshirts.  

Through the battle meld Anakin felt a rush of anticipation from his apprentice, a burst of adrenaline flowing in her veins, and the poorly squelched excitement in her emotions.  This fight was not going to be simple.  But with a mental shrug he decided there was no reason not to let her loose.  Just before they reached the brownshirts' formation Anakin slid his left hand from his blade's handle and reached down to his belt.  His hand came up again in a smooth underhand toss.  "Here, my young Padawan," he called out to her, although he knew full well she'd already sensed his intentions in the battle meld, "show 'em what you can do."  

The handle of his spare blade spun end over end in the air and smacked into Mara's upraised palm.  In an instant the ultraviolet laser sword ignited, although Anakin could not hear the snap-hiss over the din of the blaster fire or see the invisible blade with his eyes.  Mara immediately shifted to a spinning, twirling technique, using the pair of lightsabers to form a dazzling whirlwind around her body and sending her tresses of red-gold hair into a scintillating corona around her shoulders.  When she crashed into the ranks of brownshirts a second later, she carved through the enemy soldiers like a knife through tender shaak steak.  

Gouging his own effortless path into the heart of the enemy ranks, Anakin smiled with pride. 

---

Bryon jogged quickly back to the refugee column with seven of his men.  One of his scouts, Alpha Four, had sighted another squad of twenty brownshirts preparing to ambush the group when it reached the next intersection in the streets.  Instead the eight Special Forces soldiers had ambushed the brownshirts and quickly decimated the enemy unit.  Another opportunity for refugees to be killed or injured had been avoided.  

Another opportunity for Sarré to be hurt had been avoided too.  

With a smile on his face Bryon rejoined the front of the refugee column.  "That's over." 

Sarré looked up at him and smiled too.  "It went well?"  

"We won, they lost, and none of us got shot.  Textbook quality, really." 

For just a moment she reached out and touched his black-gloved hand.  "I love you, Bryon," she said.  "I want you to know how proud of you I am."  

Bryon tried not to let his confusion appear on his face, but wasn't sure he succeeded.  "I love you too, Sarré," he nodded, trying to keep his voice tender rather than befuddled.  "And thank you."  

"I just wanted you to know, is all," she said again.  

Bryon was about to ask what had prompted her strange, spontaneous expression of sincerity when the Command communications officer broke in over the comlink.  

"Alpha squad, this is Command.  Do you copy?"

"Copy, Command," Bryon answered immediately.  "Go ahead."  

"Beta squad has arrived at Rain site, Major," the voice informed him in rapid, clipped tones.  "Master Kenobi is loading them now and they expect to be airborne within three minutes.  Should I authorize liftoff as ordered?"  

"Roger, Command," Bryon said.  "Get Beta out of there."  

"Copy, Major," the voice acknowledged.  "What is your status?"  

"We're still. ah. a few minutes away," Bryon responded evasively.  "We've encountered some resistance, but we're picking up our pace.  We should be there on schedule.  Are we running out of time?"

"Not yet, Major," came the grim reply.  "With Snow and Wind sites abandoned, the Navy should be able to hold open Rain site at least another twenty minutes, maybe longer."

"Good enough, Command," Bryon said.  "Tell Rain site we'll be there."  

"Copy, Major," the voice agreed with more confidence.  "May the Force be with you."

---

Danaé blinked repeatedly and shook her head to try to clear her thoughts.  She was imagining this.  She had to be.  This couldn't be happening.  It must be some illusion in the Force, like in the cave on Dagobah.  

The black-clad figure frowned.  "It has been too long," he said.  "Not even a greeting for an old friend?" 

Danaé swallowed hard and stared into his eyes.  "Oga?  Is it really you?" 

"Yes, Danaé," he nodded.  "It is I."  

"Where have you been?" she asked, the questions pouring from her mouth in a flood.  "What happened?  Why couldn't I sense you?  How did you get here?  Why didn't you come back sooner?" 

Her former mentor raised his free hand soothingly.  "I must warn you, Danaé.  It is a truth you will not like to hear." 

"Tell me," she insisted.  "Tell me what happened."  

"When I was alone on Xixus during our mission I was attacked.  I was attacked by four Jedi.  Four Jedi sought to kill me."  His eyes held hers in an intense gaze.  "I was injured severely and almost died.  But I lived, and now I am here to cure your blindness - to show you the lies and deceptions with which the Jedi have brainwashed you."  

The bizarre allegations of his words blasted Danaé from her state of shock and brought her back to the reality of the situation.  The man standing in front of her was to all appearances her former Master Oga Trill.  But his claims were absurd - ridiculous in the extreme.  Immediately Danaé reached out to him through the living Force and was surprised to find that he was not shielding from her.  And instantly she could tell that part of his story was true - there was no doubt that his body had suffered devastating injuries that only recently had fully healed.  From their shape and the damage they had caused to his organs, she knew they were lightsaber wounds.  "Why Oga?  Why would the Jedi attack you?  That makes no sense."  

"Doesn't it, Danaé?" he asked grimly.  "My training of you was a threat to the Jedi who now dominate the Order.  Skywalker.  Kenobi.  Windu.  Offee.  Secura.  All of them have turned against me.  They feared that your tutelage with me would lead you to discover the truth, to see through their fraud and deceit.  So they betrayed me.  They had to remove me from the picture, and they nearly succeeded in doing so." 

"What lies?  What fraud?"  She stared at him incredulously.  "What are you talking about?" 

"Don't you see, Danaé?  I have learned to harness the true power of the Force.  I have seen past the false teachings of the Jedi and have found enlightenment."  He strode forward a few paces.  "The Jedi are pathetic and weak.  They cast aside the strength of the Force and abandon the power that is rightfully ours.  I will teach you, Danaé, so that you may share in the transcendent future that is to come." 

During his explanations she had continued to probe the man in front of her through the living Force.  The body was Oga Trill's, of that she had no doubt.  But the impressions and emanations and signals in the Force were all wrong.  Something had changed - something drastic.  It was almost as if the soul of her former Master had been drained away and replaced with another spirit.  A similar mind, perhaps, and yet grotesquely unrecognizable at the same time.  "I don't understand," she said.  "Why would you want strength and power?  The Force is our ally as guardians of peace and justice in the Republic.  Using the Force for domination and aggression is of the dark side." 

"That is what the Jedi have taught you," he scoffed.  "That is the greatest lie of all."

Suddenly it all became clear to Danaé.  She stretched her feelings around the figure again and tried to find the caring, warm heart of Master Trill somewhere deep inside.  Instead she found only this strange apparition who looked like him but was utterly foreign to her in the Force.  All the aspects of Oga she had loved and revered for the wonderful years of her apprenticeship were gone, and in their place she found only hollow shells and shrouded intentions.  She fought back tears.  "How could you?" she demanded.  "How could you join the Sith?" 

"I will show you the truth," he said darkly.  "And you will come to see that we are right and the Jedi are wrong."  

"No," she replied firmly.  "No.  It is the dark side that brings lies and deceptions.  You may hide behind its barriers all you like, but you will not trick me."  She took a deep breath and snatched her lightsaber handle into her palm, knowing the likely response to her next words.  "Oga Trill, I declare you a rogue agent and a menace to public safety.  In the name of the Jedi Order I place you under arrest." 

If she needed any further confirmation that her erstwhile mentor now treaded the path of evil, it came in the form of a distinctive snap-hiss and an ignited ruby laser sword arcing toward her throat.  

---

Han scanned the wide street ahead for any signs of enemy soldiers.  Fortunately there were no brownshirts to be seen and the column of refugees was able move unimpeded toward the government building and its hangar.  The group kept up its brisk pace as they jogged onward.  The civilians were tiring, though, and frequently now the soldiers had to collect stragglers from the rear of the group and find more resilient individuals to assist them.  Young children had been scooped into strong arms, and the few repulsorsleds were overloaded with the aged and infirm.  The grim march could not end a moment too soon.  

At his side Leia also had picked up on the simmering distress in the throng, and when she spoke her fingers twitched nervously against the black metal of her blaster rifle.  "How much farther?"  

Without taking his eyes from the street and the stone buildings on either side, Han tilted his head over his shoulder toward Lando, who carried the datapad with the city maps.  "Hey, Calrissian, we're almost there, right?"  

After a brief pause his friend's voice cut through the clomping of boots and nervous chatter of the refugees.  "Yeah, almost.  About a kilometer, give or take.  It won't take too long at this pace."  

Chewie wroofed his satisfaction, and Han smiled.  "I agree, pal.  I'm ready to be out of this."  

"Me too," Leia said.  "But something's not right here.  This is too easy.  We know the brownshirts have taken most of the city already.  There should be more of them trying to stop us."  

"Look, Princess," Han chuckled, "I agree it's a little strange.  But for once can't you just accept that things are going our way?  Is that really so hard to believe?"  

"With you around?  Yes, it is."

"Thanks, sweetheart.  Really.  Thanks."  

"Oh, come on, Solo, you know I was kidding," Leia winked.  "Except I still have a bad feelings about this."

---

Luke held his ground when the Sith charged, her shimmering red lightsaber beginning a blistering series of strikes and blows.  Drawing on the guidance of the Force, Luke's turquoise blade flashed from side to side, meeting each attack in turn.  The screeching and clashing of the laser swords shook the hallway with a terrible cacophony.  

Taking two long strides backward, Luke gained a small bit of separation from the Sith.  The woman took a single step forward and swung a swift double attack toward his head.  He snapped her weapon away with ease as he stepped to the side.  Then he launched an offensive of his own, a fast pattern of arcs and swings.  

The Sith deflected the blows with seeming nonchalance.  She tried another a probing assault, then swiped away his next testing series too.  

Slowly the two duelists began to circle one another, the only sounds in the hallway the intermittent clashes of their humming laser swords, their breathing, and the footfalls of their boots.  In the faint light from the glowdiscs and their blades, the deep indigo shade of his robes was indistinguishable from the pure black of her attire.  The lightsabers cast bright flashes and eerie shadows on their faces as their combat held its tentative stalemate.  

Suddenly Luke surged forward and wrenched his blue blade into strong and vicious series of strikes.  The Sith met the onslaught by holding her ground, her scarlet laser sword flicking and dipping to repel everything he tried.  

His offensive unsuccessful, Luke had no option but to step back.  He set his defenses again and waited for the Sith to make the next move.  

The menacing woman stood in place, matching his pose and locking him in another disturbing stare.  When he said nothing and did not move, she finally smiled and spoke.  "The Force is with you, young Skywalker," she said.  "But you are not a Jedi Knight yet."   

"Maybe not," Luke said calmly.  "But you would be a fool to take me lightly." 

"Oh, you can be certain, Jedi," she laughed, "that I am no fool." 

"Then I guess you'll have to take your chances with me," Luke grinned.  

"Indeed," the Sith said.  "I suppose I will."  

The woman lunged forward with a deft spearing strike, but Luke reacted instantly and blocked the blow with a firm parry.  Their blades screeched as he put the weight of his body into a counter-lunge that shoved the red lightsaber away.  The Sith spun gracefully to the side, gripped her blade in both hands, and charged him with another intricate pattern of arcs.  

Luke sensed his disadvantage against the incredible speed of her offensive, so he gave ground in the gloomy hallway and kept his body out of range for most of the strikes.  

The Sith continued the barrage relentlessly, driving him into a rapid back-stepping retreat.  Luke held his concentration on the duel and deflected the blows even as he tried to find a strategy that might allow him to shift the momentum of the fight in his favor.  

Quickly his Force perceptions found him an opportunity nearby.  Increasing the pace of his withdrawal, Luke turned a corner in the hallway, then sprang into a long backflip through an open doorway.  

Luke landed cleanly on his feet a short distance inside a secondary docking bay of the government building.  The wide room was empty, all the vessels long departed from evacuating personnel and refugees earlier in the day.  A few dozen meters square, the bay door to the space was closed and only the emergency glowdiscs high above on the ceiling shone any light to the floor.  

He barely had time to catch his breath and calm his thoughts before the Sith stalked through the doorway after him.  She strode swiftly toward him, her red blade poised to strike.   

Luke clenched his grip around his blade and waited.  As expected the Sith reached him within seconds and attacked.  The scarlet blade arced and sliced with blinding speed, strike after strike aiming to land a mortal blow.  

With the Force controlling his movements, Luke's turquoise laser sword danced brilliantly in front of him to meet each and every swing.  Immersed in the duel, he barely had a chance to notice the glimmer of subconscious pride at the back of his mind.  He was fighting with as much skill and fortitude as he ever had before - and at a very opportune time, considering his life was on the line.  

The Sith pressed her onslaught without pause, continuing the barrage and driving him backward again.  Luke retreated across the stone floor of the docking bay, then ducked to avoid a particularly dangerous swing of the red lightsaber.  

A moment later the Sith swung toward his legs, then reversed the arc in a masterful feint.  Only a Force-powered lunge sprang Luke out of the way the split second before the blow would have separated his head from his shoulders.  He fell to the floor with an ungraceful thump but sprang to his feet again immediately.  It might not have been the most artful dodge he'd ever executed, but it had saved his life and right now that was all that mattered.  

Undeterred by his unorthodox maneuver, the Sith rushed forward and took the offensive again.  Any hope Luke had held that he might be able to use his escape to ready his own counter-attack was thwarted from the start.  

Parrying the assault aside, Luke found his center of focus again and took a deep breath.  For once he actually appreciated the many times he had sparred with Mara even though it meant a certain defeat.  All the skill he had acquired in those training matches, he knew, was now the only thing keeping him alive.  


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Danaé's emerald blade shimmered to its full length only a hairsbreadth in front of her face and blocked the incoming strike of the red lightsaber.  The strength of the blow sent a jolt through her muscles and for an instant she wondered if the ear-splitting screech of the clashing laser swords meant that her block had come too late.  By throwing the weight of her body into a push with her blade, however, she managed to shove the attack aside and set up in a proper two-handed defensive stance. 

Without pause her opponent slid his blade around her parry and began to attack.  His expert swings drove her backward down the deserted, dimly lit hallway.  

She snapped her lightsaber from side to side, parrying away the assault with relative ease.  A year ago she would have had great difficulty against this offensive, but now her skills had improved enough that she could hold her own.  She deflected a high blow, then rolled her wrists to slap aside a strike aimed for her legs.  The next barrage came more quickly, though, and Danaé perceived that she wouldn't be able to parry them all.  With a quick dip of her knees she burst under an arcing slice of the humming ruby laser sword, tumbled smoothly along the floor past her opponent's legs, and sprang to her feet again several meters behind him.  

Oga Trill's face wore a malicious scowl when he spun on his heel to face her.  He approached with deliberate strides, his red blade cutting a series of short practice strikes through the air.  "Arrest me?" he chuckled.  "Surely you must be joking." 

Danaé retreated a few steps while keeping her green blade ready.  "I will do my duty," she said firmly.  "But there is no need for this.  Surrender your weapon to me and we can avoid this confrontation." 

"You have become either brainless or delusional, Danaé," her attacker scoffed.  "I will not surrender to the judgment of the sham justice administered by the Jedi Order.  It is you who must surrender, so that I can teach you the truth that you yet deny." 

When Danaé stopped her retreat and held her ground, her former mentor took the offensive again, launching strike after vicious strike at her.  While she continued to parry them away, Danaé reached out her feelings again in the living Force and probed his spirit.  His angry frown, his dark words, and his terrifying actions spoke for themselves.  But she could not believe that the good man Master Trill once was could have been eradicated completely.  Somewhere within him a kernel of the light had to remain.  With all her heart Danaé sought that spark of hope.  

The anger inside her opponent boiled over into a blazing fury as his attacks continued.  The speed of the strikes increased and their deadly aim seemed somehow to become even more accurate.  "Cease this, Danaé," he said in a frustrated, acerbic voice.  "There is no need for this.  Cast aside your weapon."

It took every bit of skill she had to successfully defend the onslaught.  The red blade came within centimeters of her shoulder, then her knee, then her wrist.  Her green lightsaber met each attack in turn but with no room to spare.  Every minute the duel continued worked to her disadvantage.  But Danaé would not concede – not to the grotesque monster that was her former Master.  "Not a chance," she laughed, hoping the feigned bravado would conceal the anguish tearing at her insides like a mother gundark protecting her young.  "Now it is you who must be joking."  

Oga's dark eyes narrowed and flickered with a malevolent fire.  "So be it, my young apprentice."  

Danaé found herself retreating again, her long backward strides complementing the blindingly quick parries of her emerald blade to prevent the ruby laser sword from striking home.  Most of her concentration was directed to her weapon as the Force surged through her mind and guided her muscles to snap and roll and spin and slice the blade through the air to keep pace with her opponent's latest offensive.  But part of her awareness continued to search the Force signature of her former mentor, digging and prodding and pleading for any sign of the Oga she remembered.  

Her efforts were met only with continued attacks from the red lightsaber.  And these were no sparring moves or training exercises.  This was real.  Entirely real.  He was trying to defeat her – to harm her – to kill her.  

Danaé kept her defenses tight as she unswervingly pursued any flicker of goodness in Oga.  Then her perceptions detected a weakness in his technique.  A vulnerability.  An opportunity for her to take the offensive and gain the advantage.  And yet she could not bring herself to do it – and she let it pass by.  This was Oga.  She knew it was.  Somewhere inside this grim figure dressed in black and attempting to slay her was the soul of Master Trill.  Somewhere.  She just had to find it.  _Please, Oga_, she beseeched frantically, _please stop.  You're not gone.  You can't be.  You can't be.  Please!_

Indifferent to her desperation, the ruby laser sword relentlessly strove to land a killing blow.  

---

The comlink in Bryon's helmet crackled open with the voice of one of the Special Forces scouts patrolling a few dozen meters from the rear of the column of refugees.  "Alpha Three here.  Bad news, Major," the young man said.  

"Go ahead, Alpha Three," Bryon said quickly.  

"We have three or four squads of brownshirts coming up on us, sir.  They're at a fast clip, so they'll catch up to us in no time."

"Understood, Alpha Three," Bryon replied.  "All Alpha units return to formation.  Repeat, all Alpha units return to formation."  Bryon clicked off the transmitter and waved over the officers nearby.  When they arrived he drew them into a small circle.  "We have a couple of squads of brownshirts approaching.  Too many for us to fight with the refugees here.  It won't work.  Captain Solo, Sergeant Birks, I want you and the others to take the regulars and get the group to the hangar as quickly as you can.  Captain Graff and I will stay here with the Special Forces – we'll set up a barricade and hold them off as long as possible.  Then we'll make a fighting retreat and meet you back at the hangar.  Is everyone clear on the plan?"  

"Absolutely, Major," said Solo as Birks, Calrissian, Chewbacca, and the remaining officers snapped firm salutes.  

"Excellent," Bryon said.  "Let's go!"  

He turned around to see Sarré glaring up at him, and felt a ball of tension form in his stomach.  "Yes, my love?"

"I'm staying here with you," she said, her uncompromising tone clearly indicating she expected an argument – and expected to win it handily.  

"As you wish."  

Sarré blinked, then smiled.  "How can I help?"  

Bryon reached out his black-gloved hand and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek.  "Aim at the brownshirts, follow orders, and don't get shot."  

She winked at him.  "In that order?"  

For the first time in the entire operation, Bryon laughed.  "Don't get shot, follow orders, and aim at the brownshirts." 

"I'll do my best," Sarré laughed too.  Then the two of them joined Graff and Kessa in directing the two dozen Special Forces soldiers in building a makeshift barricade in the middle of the wide street.  Several damaged speeders were dragged into position, along with crates and hunks of metal and other debris cluttering the thoroughfare.  Smashing the windows of a few nearby buildings gave them access to large furniture and heavy metal equipment.  After only a few minutes the cobbled-together wall stood nearly two meters high and blocked the street.  It wasn't ideal, but it would give them a good defensive position temporarily.  With any luck they could hold off the brownshirts for several minutes and buy the refugees enough time to get away.  

The lookout's voice sounded in Bryon's helmet.  "Here they come!"  

"Everyone in position," Bryon shouted.  He cast his eyes over the barricade to the street beyond and watched the swarming throng of tan-armored enemy soldiers surging toward them.  He waited until just the right moment, then gave the order.  "Open fire!"  

---

"I don't like this," Leia said, her blaster rifle swinging at her side.  The remainder of Alpha squad continued to lead the group of refugees toward the government building.  "We just left our best soldiers behind."  

"Yeah," Han groaned, "because me and Chewie and Lando and these Army guys are a bunch of worthless nerfs."  

"You know I didn't mean it like that," she snapped.  "I just meant that we're so much more exposed now if another group of brownshirts attacks us."  

"I guess that's true," Han nodded.  "But we'll be fine.  It's just a few more minutes and then we're there."

"I still don't like it."

"Look, Your Anxiousness, your brother knows what he's doing.  It's been over fifteen hours since we started, and has he once led us wrong?  Has he?"  

"No," Leia conceded with a frown.  "No, he hasn't."  

"See?  It's gonna be fine," Han said.  

Leia shook her head and smiled.  "I don't know how you do it."

"What?" 

"How you make ridiculous situations like this seem like they're perfectly normal – nothing to sweat about."

"I guess hanging around with me has its advantages, huh?"  

Leia smirked.  "Han, I never _got_ into these kinds of situations before I started hanging around with you."

"Sure," he smirked back, "but I always get you out of them somehow, don't I?"

Leia only rolled her eyes in disbelief.  "I suppose you do have your moments.  Not many, but you have them."

---

Anakin cut down the final brownshirt and turned to face his apprentice.  She was in a stance of readiness, her eyes scanning the plaza around them as the twin lightsabers hummed in her hands.  "Excellent, Mara," he said.  "You performed exceptionally with these techniques.  It is most impressive for someone your age." 

"Thank you, Master," she nodded, a burst of appreciation mingled with embarrassment trickling through the battle meld.  "I do my best."  

He strode the six paces over to her.  "As always," he smiled warmly.  "I'm very proud of you."  

"Thank you, Master," she said again, her eyes looking down at the ground.  

Seeking to reassure her about his sincerity, Anakin reached out his free hand and brushed a few stray strands of her red-gold hair away from her face.  It was a fatherly gesture he had done countless times before.  

This time, however, her smile flinched and her eyes flickered in fright when they jumped instinctively to his.  Her cheeks flushed and she tore her eyes away to stare at the ground again.  

Anakin could sense her trying to suppress her emotions, but it was too late.  Images and memories flashed in her mind, and through the battle meld into his as well.  A tender hand on her face.  A soft kiss.  A lock of hair swept away lovingly.  A moan – a gasp – a flare of ardent passion.  A pair of intense blue eyes.  

Luke.  

Before Anakin could begin to understand or comprehend or think or consider or even be sure what he had seen and felt from Mara, the roar of a repulsor drive shook the plaza.  He looked up to see a Vyhrragian tankship swooping over them.  The single-pilot vehicle was little more than a cockpit attached to a flying artillery cannon.  About five meters long and two meters across, the small atmospheric craft zoomed away, then swerved around to point its gun toward them.  

He and Mara sprang apart with Force-powered leaps, forcing the tankship's pilot to choose between them.  After a moment's hesitation the tankship swung toward Anakin.  Instinctively he dropped to the ground and tumbled smoothly along the stone tiles of the plaza to leave only a moving target for the pilot.  A trio of cannon blasts flew at him, but they all impacted into the stone tiles meters away.  

When the tankship passed overhead again and prepared to set up for another strafing run, Anakin sprang to his feet and extended his left hand outward.  Mara had perceived his intentions perfectly in the battle meld and already had tossed him the deactivated handle of the ultraviolet blade.  It smacked firmly into his palm and the humming invisible blade snap-hissed to its full length.  

This time when the tankship fired Anakin did not dodge.  Instead he took a single long stride forward – into the path of the incoming cannon blast.  He crossed the blades in front of his body and tensed his arms and shoulders for the impact.  With a sharp twang the laser blast collided with the precise intersection of the two blades and deflected straight back into the tankship.  The enemy craft exploded in a fireball only ten meters away from them.  

The flaming wreckage flew right at him.  Anakin was about to duck away in panic when he realized Mara had the situation well in hand.  The debris from the incinerated tankship bounced harmlessly off the barrier she had erected around them in the Force.  After a few seconds all the smoking scraps and smoldering wreckage had fallen to the ground, and Mara released her focus and the protective shield vanished from the ether.  

Anakin met her eyes and tipped his head.  "Thanks," he said, chagrined.  "I forgot about that part."  

"Typical," Mara winked, a sly grin on her face.  

"Watch it, my young apprentice," he glowered with false sternness as he deactivated the invisible blade and clipped its handle to his belt.  "It is unwise to mock one's elders." 

She only shook her head and laughed.  "Yes, Master.  Of course, Master.  It won't happen again, Master."  

Anakin laughed too.  "I'm glad my point is understood, my dear Padawan."  

Their broad smiles disappeared when their Force perceptions drew their eyes to the far edge of the plaza again.  Two more squads of eight brownshirts each were charging them at a brisk run.  

"Oh, this is much better," Mara said.  

"Indeed," Anakin agreed.  "We can take the offensive with this few."

Mara looked at him expectantly.  "I'll take the one on the right," she proposed, "you take the one on the left."  

"Why am I even saying anything?" he shrugged.  "You seem to be on top of things."

---

Jaytoo blooped and honked in frustration at the protocol droid.  "I most decidedly am not pacing, you inconsiderate bucket of bolts," Threepio exclaimed.  "I am simply trying to find the position that provides the most complete view of the battle assessment table down on the floor there."  

Jaytoo toodled, then rolled forward.  "You'll have to be more clear," insisted Threepio.  "What do you mean I should just go down there and get a better look?"

The astromech trilled indignantly and rolled even further forward, backing the protocol droid right up to the railing of the gallery over the bridge of the _Invictus_ from which they recently had been observing the final steps of the evacuation operation.  "Stop it right there, you lunatic," shouted Threepio in dismay.  "You'll knock me clear over the edge."  

Backing up without turning around, Jaytoo whistled in amusement.  "I have a perfectly fine sense of humor," Threepio declared theatrically.  "It's just that I don't find your little attempted murder stunt the least bit entertaining."  

Jaytoo beeped and whirred a question.  "No, I have not been able to hear word of Master Anakin or any of the others," Threepio lamented.  "If you're willing to behave yourself, perhaps we can learn something from one of the bridge droids."  

Jaytoo tipped his tubular torso forward and back at the shoulders – an astromech nod.  "Very well," Threepio said as he began to amble toward the turbolift at the far end of the gallery.  "Just remember, you promised to behave."  

Jaytoo honked and trilled, and then followed right behind.  

---

Luke retreated across the wide floor of the darkened docking bay, his blue lightsaber whipping and slicing madly through the air to parry away the Sith's attacks.  By now he could tell for certain that she was more powerful than he, and it took all his concentration to remain composed and confident in the face of her relentless onslaught.  When the next series of strikes became too much he tumbled smoothly to the floor, rolled several meters away, and leaped to his feet again.  The brief respite allowed him a deep breath to control his frenetic heartbeat and to set his feet and blade in a proper defensive position.  

The Sith approached him deliberately, her scarlet blade humming ominously in the air.  "Your pathetic defense is doomed, young Skywalker," she said.  "Your only hope for survival is to join me."  

"I'll never become a Sith," Luke declared sharply.  "I'll never fall to the dark side."  

"Never is a strong word," the Sith chastised him.  "Such vows are notoriously difficult to keep." 

"You won't win," Luke said.  "You'll never defeat my father.  He is the Chosen One, and you won't beat him." 

"Such confidence for someone so young," she laughed.  "And are you actually so foolish that you believe those ancient riddles on which the Order pins its hopes?"

"I believe in them," Luke said with absolute conviction.  "I believe in my father." 

"Your faith is admirable," the Sith said, "but it is sorely misplaced.  Your father never told you about the other prophecy." 

Luke stared at the evil woman in shock.  She was lying.  She had to be.  It couldn't be true.  "I don't believe you," he finally sputtered.  "There is no other prophecy."  

"Oh, but there is, young Skywalker.  There is."  The Sith suddenly lunged forward and attacked again, her shimmering blade cutting a spearing strike toward his abdomen.  

Luke parried it away.  "You're lying!"  

"No, young Skywalker, I am not," the Sith chuckled darkly.  "It is a prophecy the Order has buried in the depths of its Archives.  Only the most trusted and wise Masters are ever permitted to learn of its existence.  You know, of course, of the prophecy of the Chosen One.  But your Masters have concealed from you the other prophecy – some might say its companion.  Its twin.  The prophecy of the Knight of Darkness."

Luke realized the Sith had not attacked again but simply stood by, waiting for him to act.  Failing other words, he repeated, "I don't believe you." 

The Sith only smiled.  "The prophecy foretells that a great Jedi Knight, a pinnacle of the Order, will fall from grace to take up the mantle of power and might and ambition.  His strength shall be unparalleled, his dominion beyond compare, his victory unstoppable.  He will bring the Republic to its knees and the Order to its grave." 

Luke felt a gruesome chill run down his spine, and something awful in his heart told him that despite all the desperate denials he was proclaiming in his mind, the Sith spoke the truth.  The other prophecy did exist.  "If you think that's my father," he said with compelled firmness, "you're wrong.  He'll never fall to the dark side."  

"Perhaps not," the Sith conceded with a nod.  "But if it is not he, then perhaps the Knight of Darkness is you." 

Luke shook his head and charged forward, attacking the Sith with rapid strikes of his turquoise blade.  "No!  You're wrong," he yelled.  "No!  I'll never fall to the dark side either!" 

"Your destiny lies with me, young Skywalker," the Sith grinned in response.  "Obi-Wan knows this to be true." 

---****

Danaé retreated deliberately down the darkened hallway, her emerald blade slicing precisely through the air to parry away another series of strikes from ruby laser sword wielded by the demon with Oga's face.  In her awareness the energy currents of the Force churned wildly from the effects of her duel and others she could only barely perceive, as if they were taking place far in the distance.  And yet through the furious boiling of the Force she sensed a building convergence in the ether, the tug of innumerable different futures all streaming toward a single momentous collision point.  

During her training with Master Windu he had begun to teach her to see in the Force what he called shatterpoints – flashes in time and space and destiny when many possible fates coalesced into a single instant, when a Jedi fully attuned to the Force could pierce her opponent's greatest vulnerability with a decisive action and turn the tide against even the greatest odds.  She had struggled to understand his meaning and had told him so.  

Now, here, by herself, dueling her former mentor, with no wise Masters to consult and no time for reflection and contemplation, she understood.  A shatterpoint was approaching – and that crucial, fateful action would be hers and hers alone to take.  

The grim, wicked face of Oga Trill smiled at her.  "You cannot run forever, Danaé," he said.  "The time of the Jedi has passed, and the time for a new future has arrived.  You must abandon your pathetic Jedi ways and see the truth.  It is inevitable."  

Danaé paused, her lightsaber held ready in front of her body.  He was leaving her openings.  Testing her.  Baiting her.  But she could not bring herself to attack – not yet.  She still had to try to reach him, to find the good in him and bring him back to the light side.  Her blade dipped and found the balance point of its defensive position.  "The truth is that I am a Skywalker and a Jedi, and my future is my own to make.  You will not persuade me otherwise." 

The bearded figure chuckled.  "You are mistaken, my young apprentice.  Your future is ordained by your heritage, just as your father's is." 

A strange weight seemed carried in his words, giving them a strength far beyond the tutelage she remembered.  After a second, though, Danaé realized it was the power of the dark side clouding her mind and disrupting her judgment.  She took a deep breath and readied her defenses again, though he did not strike.  "No.  You are wrong.  My destiny is my own."

Master Trill smiled again.  "You do not yet realize your importance.  You have only begun to discover your power," he said coolly.  "The future of the Skywalkers lies not with the Jedi, but with something far greater – the power to rule the galaxy, to bring the millions of star systems under a wise and strong leadership."  

Danaé only shook her head.  

"You cannot avoid your destiny, Danaé, as much as you might wish it were so," her opponent said.  "You must release the barriers in your mind the Jedi have placed there and open yourself to the true nature of the Force.  Join me and I will complete your training." 

When Master Trill strode forward, Danaé retreated again.  She knew they were moving further down the hallway, away from the central corridors and the hangar.  She took another deep breath and composed her emotions and her voice.  "I will never join you," she said.  "Not on those terms.  Not now.  Not ever."  

"If you only knew the power the Jedi have tricked you to forgo," he said confidently.  "Yours is a future of supremacy and domination – of the very things your father could have seized for himself all those years ago but was too weak to claim.  Take up the mantle he has abandoned and bring the galaxy the stability and guidance it needs.  I can teach you to find the might within yourself the Jedi have suppressed.  I can give you the wisdom the Jedi refuse to instill." 

"You will not," Danaé said firmly, still retreating as the tall, black-clad figure advanced on her.  "That is a role you gave up when you turned your back on me and went over to the dark side and joined the Sith.  I may still be a learner, but I am no longer your apprentice." 

"No, Danaé," intoned Oga forcefully.  "_I_ am your Master."

---

Ryoo Naberrie tapped her fingertips nervously on the ceramic sides of the mug of steaming cocoa that warmed her lap.  She sat huddled in a comfortable plush chair in the sitting room of her grandparents' home in Theed, transfixed by the live Holonet broadcast on the family's viewscreen.  To her right, nestled in the lap of her betrothed, the young Cliegg Lars, Pooja's eyes also were focused on the images of the session of the Galactic Senate that now was being called to order by the presiding officer.  

Although it was deep in the middle of the night local time in Theed, Ryoo knew that the entire city was gathered around viewscreens as they were.  The Chancellor Regent of the Republic, Sabé Bellion, had served for fifteen years as Naboo's Senator.  In this time of terrible crisis the Naboo would honor their own more than ever.  

Even more significantly, however, everyone on Naboo had heard the rumors that the news agencies had been reporting all day about Ryoo's beloved aunt.  Senator-at-Large Padmé Naberrie Skywalker would be the first delegate to address the session.  With her staunchest ally installed as Regent, there could be only one reason for the Senator-at-Large to speak.  And yet no advanced text had been released, no assurances or denials given by her office, and no indication provided of the actual content of her speech.  Padmé had kept herself in such seclusion that she had not even contacted her parents or her sister. 

Ryoo carefully sipped her drink as Chancellor Regent Bellion finally brought the chamber to a respectful silence and recognized Senator-at-Large Skywalker.  The pod detached from its moorings among the lowest rows of delegations and rose gracefully to a hover a few meters from the presiding officer's dais high in the air of the gigantic bowl of the Senate.  The camera droids were not in position to show Padmé closely, but Ryoo could see the outlines of a distinctive traditional Naboo hairstyle and gown and could tell that two of Padmé's oldest and most trusted friends, Jenny Antilles and Jar Jar Binks, had joined her in the pod.  

The pod reached its final position in the air and Padmé rose from her seat.  With her head bowed she strode confidently to the front of the pod, placed her hands on the small podium there, and then raised her face to her colleagues and the Holonet cameras.  A profound, intense murmur of shock and surprise and amazement echoed inside the Senate chamber. 

Ryoo gasped and nearly spilled the contents of her mug, and she heard a whimper from her sister.  Ryoo somehow found her breath again and called out down the hallway.  "Mom!  Dad!  Everybody!  You… Come on…  you…  you…  You have to see this now.  Hurry!  Hurry!"  

Only a few heartbeats later the others joined them.  Ryoo's parents, Sola and Darred, entered hand-in-hand, clearly still brushing the fog of sleep from their thoughts.  Her grandparents, Jobal and Ruwee, entered the sitting room right behind.  Of the new arrivals Jobal was the first to glance at the viewscreen, and when she did she gasped in dismay and slumped into her husband's supporting arms.  "Oh," she whispered.  "Oh.  Oh, no." 

The woman on the viewscreen – daughter, sister, aunt – wore a black gown of mourning.  Her long brown hair was pulled into an elaborate design that rose over her head and to the sides, with golden filaments and tassels decorating the traditional elegance of commemoration.  But what truly shocked them was her face.  

Her skin was coated in a thin layer of white powder, on top of which had been drawn a few brilliant marks in a shade of red the color of blood – a small dot on each cheek, a streak along her upper lip, and a thick vertical line down the center of her bottom lip.  

The Scar of Remembrance.  

And in that moment Ryoo knew the rumors were true.  Her doubts vanished and her hopes that something – anything – else might happen fell away.  She knew with absolute certainty what Padmé would say next, even as she watched from many lightyears away as her aunt drew in a deep breath.  

"I am Amidala of Naboo," the painted face on the viewscreen said, "and I stand before you as a candidate for Supreme Chancellor of the Republic."

---

Artoo Detoo watched Obi-Wan Kenobi descend the boarding ramp of one of only two remaining evacuation transports in the hangar of the government building.  The enormous docking bay was now almost empty, with four other transports having departed minutes earlier.  Once the Jedi Master stepped off the bottom the ramp rose from the ground and slowly closed.  The transport's repulsors activated with a rumbling whir and the starship began to fly ponderously from the hangar with Beta squad and its group of refugees aboard.  

"One left, my robotic friend," smiled the white-bearded man.  "Alpha squad should be here momentarily.  I told the others to be here within ten minutes." 

Artoo toodled a query.  "Yes," Kenobi said.  "Anakin acknowledged my signal on his comlink.  He and Mara will be on their way shortly."  

Artoo blooped and whistled insistently.  "No, actually, I haven't heard from them," the Jedi Master frowned.  "And you're right.  Luke and Danaé should have been back by now."  

After Kenobi tried to reach the two apprentices on the comlink but got no reply, Artoo wheeled over to the data port on the wall and plugged in.  Almost immediately he trilled in frustration.  "The security cams are out?"  Kenobi was frustrated too.  "Any other ideas?"  

Artoo disengaged from the data port and spun his dome around to face Kenobi again, then whistled and beeped.  "Very well.  But make it quick.  We don't have much time." 

A few minutes later Artoo trundled speedily down a dark hallway of the building.  He was attempting to retrace the most likely path Luke might have taken during his check of this wing of the facility, but as yet hadn't found him.  The astromech beeped softly to himself in annoyance – the thick stone used to construct the building blocked his scanners and hindered his ability to perform a quick and efficient search.  

Artoo turned the corner into another hallway and noticed a wide door at the far end.  Zooming quickly to check it out, he discovered it was a small side hangar.  Although the docking bay was mostly empty, a single Republic Army gunship rested on its landing gear inside – in the haste of the evacuation the soldiers carrying out the first stage of the exodus must have inadvertently left this vehicle behind.  Artoo rolled up the boarding ramp of the gunship and plugged into the data port just inside.  Sure enough, the vehicle was fueled, armed, and operational.  

Disconnecting from the data port and rolling down the ramp again, Artoo whistled in satisfaction.  He always preferred to have a backup escape method ready, and now he had one.  He had been on too many missions with Skywalkers to count on everything going according to plan.  

After he resumed his progress through the hallway, Artoo opened his comlink connection to Kenobi and toodled a question.  A moment later the Jedi Master reported that there still had been no word from Luke or Danaé.  

Artoo switched off the comlink and blooped in amusement.  If Threepio were here, the protocol droid would be issuing one exclamation of doom and gloom after another and pronouncing his utter dismay that he would never see either of the young Jedi again.  And that they would all be destroyed.  And that the Maker had forsaken him.  And that suffering must be his lot in life.  

Heading toward another likely path Luke might have taken inside the building's corridors, Artoo realized he almost missed having Threepio along.  Even though he could imagine perfectly the protocol droid's entire frantic, immeasurably anxious soliloquy, it just wasn't the same.  

Had the astromech been capable of a shrug, he would have.  There was always next time.  

---

Luke pressed his offensive, his swift and powerful blows driving the Sith back across the stone floor of the docking bay.  Although his feelings told him the Sith was not deceiving him about the existence of the other prophecy, he refused to accept her interpretation of it.  Striking high, then low, then high again, he took hold of the momentum of the duel and attacked even harder.  

To avoid his next strikes the Sith stepped back quickly and spun away, her black cloak swirling out around her shoulders and her brilliant scarlet blade tracing hypnotic patterns above her head.  She whirled smoothly into a defensive stance two meters away.  "Impressive, young Skywalker," she said.  "But it will not be enough.  Your Jedi skills pale in comparison to the true might of the dark side." 

"Deceit and mistrust are the ways of the dark side," Luke replied through clenched teeth.  "The dark side isn't stronger – only quicker, easier, and more seductive.  It's not stronger."  

The Sith only smiled haughtily.  "But surely even if what you say is true," she chuckled, "a _Master_ of the dark wields more power than a mere _apprentice_ of the light?"

Luke felt his heart sink and his stomach lurch.  He'd known this Sith was strong, but it hadn't occurred to him she might be the Master.  And if she was, then what she said was no doubt true – for even if his father or Master Obi-Wan was stronger than the Sith Master, he was not.  Not yet – not now – not today.  Luke took a deep breath, found his own defensive stance, and smiled.  All he said was, "Possibly." 

Without a word the Sith Master strode forward in a blur, her scarlet laser sword swiping down at his legs.  

Luke jumped into the air and let the red blade swing harmlessly beneath him, then snapped his blade upright to block the return arc as he landed on his feet again.  She continued her barrage of strikes, her shimmering weapon slicing at his head.  Luke let the Force guide his hands, and his wrists snapped and rolled to parry away each blow.  His defenses held, and after a moment the Sith Master spun away again.  

She set her feet and released her two-handed grip.  Dancing the tip of her lightsaber in the air with her right hand, she stared coldly into his eyes.  "You have controlled your fear," she said.  "Now release your anger.  Only your hatred can destroy me."  

The instant those words left her mouth Luke found himself parrying wildly to stay alive.  The Sith Master was attacking him with incomprehensible speed and precision – with as much strength and grace and accuracy as any sparring match he'd ever fought with his father.  Luke felt the fear rising in his soul after all, but he focused on the flow of the Force through his arms and swung his blade without conscious thought.  Amazingly he somehow repelled the entire onslaught and managed to spring into a twisting double backflip that brought him three meters away from the Sith Master.  

"Impressive yet again, young Skywalker," she grinned.  "But your skills will not save you.  And more importantly, they will not save your little sister."  

Luke felt the jolt of terror rock him to his very core.  "What… what… what are you talking about?"  

"Surely you must have figured it out by now, Jedi," the Sith Master said derisively.  "Her old Master, Oga Trill, has seen the truth and joined me.  For the last year he has been my apprentice, learning the ways of the Sith and assisting me in training others."  

Once again Luke knew immediately that she spoke the truth.  And between this revelation and her knowledge of the other prophecy, he felt his confidence shatter into a thousand shards.  "What does any of that," he demanded after a deep breath, "have to do with Danaé?" 

"Are you really so imperceptive?" the Sith Master scoffed.  "Darth Malus is here, now, in this building.  As we speak he has found your sister and implores her to join him again."

"No," Luke exclaimed in horror.  "No.  Leave her alone!  I thought this was about my father and me.  What does any of this have to do with her?"  

"Can't you see, young Skywalker?  By now it should be obvious."  The Sith Master had closed the distance between them to less than a meter, but still she did not attack.  "If you will not turn to the dark side, then perhaps she will." 

Instantaneously Luke's dread exploded into fury.  "Never!"  

Against his barrage of vicious, fierce, enraged blows the Sith Master retreated calmly.  With seemingly no effort she snapped aside his deadly attacks and stepped away from mortal strikes.  "Good," she smirked as his determined offensive continued unabated.  "Your hate has made you powerful."  

Luke swung his blazing turquoise blade with unmitigated hostility.  "No!  Leave her out of this!  Leave her alone!" 

"You cannot win, young Skywalker," the Sith Master laughed.  "You cannot save your sister.  You cannot save yourself.  You are doomed."  

"Stop!" shouted Luke brutally.  "You leave her out this!  Leave her alone!"  
  


"Fuel your power with your hatred, young Skywalker," the Sith Master said with a tempting, husky, inhumanely seductive voice.  "Let it consume you.  Now fulfill your destiny and take your father's place at my side!"  

Thinking only of protecting Danaé from this demonic, despicable, atrocious monster, Luke felt his mind unhinge as his rage poured through his veins with a power and strength in the Force he had never felt before.  He charged forward with his blue blade swinging aggressively, assaulting the Sith Master with a primal, blind ferocity.  

---

Darth Barbarus moved swiftly along the rooftops, his long strides carrying him easily toward the place his spotter had informed him about moments earlier.  Reaching the edge of this building, he sprang into a Force-powered leap that brought him down gently atop the adjacent one.  A few more leaps later he arrived at his destination and rushed to the northeast corner of the roof.  

In the street below he saw a large group of several hundred refugees retreating to his left in the direction of the main government building, which for hours had been one of the Republic's three evacuation sites in Gonnolli.  That group was of no consequence.  Instead he looked to his right, where a much smaller group of perhaps two dozen soldiers had taken up a position behind a makeshift barricade.  From there the squad was defending the rear of the refugee column from several squads of approaching brownshirts.  

Barbarus had no trouble finding his target.  In the middle of the group at the barricade was an enormous figure in the black battle armor of the Republic Special Forces.  The towering officer was barking orders to his troops and firing his heavy blaster rifle over the barricade, taking down a brownshirt with each shot.  

It was the Skywalker boy.  There was no doubt about it.  

Barbarus raised his eyes to the rooftop across the boulevard.  Quickly he found Darth Delicti's head peering out from behind a parapet.  She met his gaze and smiled.  

Delicti's eyes closed and Barbarus heard her voice in his mind.  _Do you have a clean shot from there?_ she asked.  _There is a closer location up ahead._

Barbarus focused his concentration but kept his eyes open.  _No need,_ he sent back calmly.  _This will do fine._  

_Excellent, my friend_, Delicti replied.  _Fire when ready.  I will cover your escape._

_Confirmed,_ Barbarus acknowledged.  He slung the strap off his shoulder and brought his long, narrow sniper rifle into his hands.  He hefted it with his left hand and checked the alignment of the sight one last time.  Next he flicked a switch and released a plate on the top of the rifle, exposing an empty, round chamber just above the trigger.  

Then he unclipped his lightsaber from his belt, spun it in his fingers until the activation plate faced downward, and inserted the handle into the chamber in the rifle.  It fit perfectly, sliding into place with a quiet click.  Barbarus closed and latched the chamber before he lay down prone and scooted carefully to the edge of the rooftop.  

With marksman's precision Barbarus trained the rifle's sight on shining backplate of Skywalker's black battle armor.  After holding the aim for several heartbeats, his thumb flicked a switch just above the trigger.  A low hum buzzed in his ear as the lightsaber activated within the rifle.  A second later a soft beep sounded.  The energy packets were formed and ready.  

In just that instant Skywalker turned around to speak to a short blonde girl in a red-and-white military jumpsuit.  The broad, smooth chestplate of his armor glimmered in the sight – it was a wider, simpler bulls-eye than Barbarus ever could have imagined.  

"And now it is finished," he whispered.  Barbarus rapidly squeezed the trigger three times.  The bolts hissed through the rifle's long barrel and popped from the muzzle with only a brush of sound as the silencer muffled their noise.  Through the sight Barbarus saw all three shots strike home, slamming into Skywalker's chest and propelling his body backward into the barricade.  The armor was punctured by a triangle of smoking holes, exactly as intended.  

Barbarus slithered away from the edge of the roof, then sprang to his feet and began to run.  By the time he had jumped to the next building, his lightsaber handle was clipped to his belt again and the rifle was slung diagonally across his back by its strap.  Reaching the edge of the roof he cleared the distance to the next one with ease as well.  In the back of his mind he felt a subtle push from Delicti, letting him know she was on her way to meet him.  

Unexpectedly she pushed a second thought into his mind too – her confidence that he had succeeded. 

Barbarus smiled to himself as he continued to run and leap from building to building.  Of course he had succeeded.  In taking three bolts from the Sith sniper rifle, Skywalker had suffered wounds nearly as devastating as being stabbed in the chest three times with a lightsaber.  Internal organs were shredded, blood vessels severed and cauterized, lungs collapsed, and more.  Injuries of that magnitude could not be survived, even by someone strong in the Force.  And this boy was no Jedi.  Barbarus knew their objective had been achieved. 

Bryon Skywalker had met his destiny.  

---

Mara gripped her shimmering violet laser sword in both hands as she charged the four surviving brownshirts, who continued to fire their blaster rifles at her.  She turned her shoulders into the rapid swings of her blade as she approached.  With two quick rolls of her wrists she repelled the incoming bolts and returned them directly at her opponents.  A few bolts dissipated against the tan battle armor, but others found gaps in the plating and two brownshirts collapsed to the ground.  The other two continued to fire, and the reduced numbers allowed Mara to concentrate more fully on her deflections.  Her wrists flicked her weapon in a swift arc and a pair of blaster bolts careened into the enemies, dropping them before she got close enough to strike with the blade itself.  She swung her lightsaber into a position of readiness and scanned the plaza with her eyes and the Force.  

With a soothing breath she confirmed that the bloodied, corpse-strewn area was momentarily empty.  To the left her Master had finished off his opponents as well.  Without needing to be summoned she began to jog toward him to regroup for the next squad that was surely on its way.  

Just as she arrived at her Master's side a blazing, ripping, tearing, burning stab of pain exploded in her chest.  The agony spearing into her through the battle meld was so intense it nearly knocked her unconscious.  She stumbled and fell forward to her knees, smacking them sharply on the stone.  After a moment she regained clear thoughts and looked up at her Master.  

His face wore an expression of shock and anguish and incomprehension.  So unreadable were his eyes that she didn't know whether his next action would be to cry or scream or pass out.  And then he spoke.  "Bryon," he gasped.  "Bryon." 

At first Mara tried to surge her perceptions out into the Force, searching for Luke's brother.  But after only a heartbeat she knew it was a futile effort – Anakin was far more powerful than she, and he had been able to keep part of his awareness on his children during the battle without impairing his ability to fight.  It was through that connection that he and she had experienced the pain of whatever injuries Bryon had just suffered.  Any attempt to find Bryon now, without a preexisting connection, would be virtually impossible within the raging battle around them – even for Anakin.  Mara compelled herself to rise to her feet and gazed into her Master's eyes.  

"I can't feel Bryon," Anakin said hollowly.  "I can't feel him."    

---

Just as Alpha squad's column of refugees arrived at the main hangar of the government building in the center of Gonnolli a frantic shout rang out from Han's comlink.  "Captain Solo," one of the soldiers at the rear of the group yelled in panic, "we have a squad of brownshirt on us.  We need reinforcements!  Now!"  

Han quickly motioned the others over.  "Lando, take the group and get them inside and on the transports.  Chewie, get all the Army guys together and get them to the rear.  I'm heading there now."  

Lando nodded and burst away, waving for the refugees to follow him.  Chewie wroofed in agreement and roared at the gray armored Republic troops as he motioned for them to follow him.  Han was about to run too when he felt Leia's hand on his arm.

"What about me?" she demanded.  

"Go with Lando," he said brusquely.  "Help him load the refugees and get onboard."  

"No," she said.  "No.  I want to stay with you."  

"Forget it, Princess," he snapped.  "This isn't evacuation any more.  This is war.  Go with Lando."  

"No, Han.  I can fight," she insisted, hefting her blaster rifle for emphasis.  "You know I can.  I want to come with you and…"

"You heard me, Leia," he barked.  "Go.  That's an order." 

Leia's face lit up in rage.  "How dare you!  I only asked if I could…"

He cut her off angrily.  "No time to discuss this in committee."

"I am not a committee!"  

"Look, _Senator_," he growled, watching her face fall as he used her formal title viciously, "I'm not going to let you get yourself killed over something stupid like this.  Understand?  Now go with Lando.  I'll be back before you know it.  Go.  Now!"  

Stung by his words, Leia looked away and her chin quivered.  Then she nodded weakly and ran after Lando.  

---

Anakin held Mara's gaze and saw that tears had welled up in her green eyes.  In the Force he could sense that the pain he had felt from Bryon had screeched its way through the battle meld to his apprentice.  The sensation had been more intensely agonizing than anything he had felt in his life, even Padmé giving birth.  Only his dominating Jedi focus had kept him conscious through it, and as strong as Mara was her concentration was not yet that impervious.  She was fighting off the pain as if it had happened to her directly.  It was remarkable she hadn't passed out, much less that she hadn't cried.  

She blinked again and grimaced.  "Do you want me to…"  Her voice trailed off and in the Force it was clear she didn't have any idea what she could do.  

"No," he shook his head.  "Clear your mind.  Stay sharp.  There will be more brownshirts here any moment." 

"Yes, Master," she nodded.  Reluctantly she turned away, her shoulders shuddering as she took a series of deep breaths.  Her legs were quivering and her arms hung limply at her sides.  

Anakin knew he should find some reassuring words for her, that he should say something to try to help her regain her composure from the stab of fire that had rocked both of them through the Force.  But he couldn't do it.  No words would come.  His mind could think only one thought – _Bryon_.  He stretched his feelings out in the Force, searching for his son.  The warm strand of feelings in his mind where the connection to Bryon should have been was now cold and empty.  Anakin pressed his concentration toward that severed string, trying with all his might to compel the broken link to open again.  He didn't even care how much screaming agony he might find if it did – all he wanted was the connection.  

It would not reopen.  As hard as he pushed, he found nothing.  

Anakin closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath.  Maybe he was trying too hard.  Maybe if he relaxed and let the Force flow into him the perceptions would come.  Maybe if he could control the panic building in his soul he would be able to reach out more effectively in the Force.  

Still he found nothing.  

He reached out with his awareness once more, launching wave after wave of exploratory probes into the battle around him.  He touched his connection to Leia and found her determined and calm.  Instantly he knew she and Bryon must have become separated, because her emotions belied any awareness of the injuries Bryon had suffered.  Then he tried to reach out for Sarré, only to realize that he had not created a connection with her.  His chances of finding her in the Force were so slim that his only option was to direct his efforts to other things.  So again Anakin smashed his Force perceptions at the vacant spot in his mind where the whisper of Bryon had fallen silent.  

And again he found nothing.  

But he hadn't felt Bryon die.  He knew he hadn't.  Anakin had felt many deaths through the Force over the years, friends and enemies alike, close by and far away, Jedi and not.  He had perceived tremendous, indescribable pain from Bryon – that he couldn't deny.  But the distinctive whistle of death had not been there.  So Bryon wasn't dead.  

At least not yet.  

Then Mara's voice intruded into his contemplations.  "Master, get ready," she said quickly.  "More brownshirts."  

Anakin took a deep breath and gripped his humming laser sword with two hands.  He opened his eyes to the sight of roughly forty brownshirts rushing across the plaza toward them.  "Let them come to us," he said deliberately.  "Too many for us to take the offensive.  Maximize deflections during the charge, then group decimation tactics once they're upon us."

"Agreed, Master," replied Mara, her voice wavering.  

"We've beaten many more than this already today," he said as calmly as he could.  "It won't be a problem."  

Mara's eyes met his again as her presence in the battle meld trembled.  "If we stay focused, Master." 

Anakin nodded, fully aware of what she was worried about.  With these kinds of numbers, any distraction could be fatal – and he was already distracted.  If something else should happen during the fight…  He shook his head firmly and clenched his jaw.  He would not allow himself to think that way.  He simply wouldn't.  He would defeat this next group of attackers and then he would go to Bryon.  They weren't going to take his son away from him.  He wouldn't let them.  Bryon had been injured and Anakin would go to him.  As soon as that decision settled in his mind he clenched his jaw even harder and narrowed his eyes.  He was going to end this and get to Bryon.  Nothing would get in his way and no one would stop him.  Nothing.  No one.  He was going to save his son. 

No matter what it took.  No matter what.

---

Bail Organa blinked repeatedly until he convinced himself he wasn't dreaming.  When he did, the gravity of the situation formed a tight ball of tension in the pit of his stomach.  The Regal Prerogative.  After all these years, Padmé actually had invoked it.  She had come before the Senate in the ceremonial attire of a Queen of Naboo, as was her privilege as former monarch.  She had called herself Amidala, the native name-of-state she had not used in nearly a quarter century.  And she had declared her willingness to take on the obligations and burdens and dangers of the highest office in the Republic at a time when no other Senator dared.  

He shook his head in consternation.  In retrospect he should have expected this, of course.  And yet he hadn't, and now he sat here in stunned silence, gaping like an idiot at the image of his old friend on the pod's small viewscreen.  When this session ended, he knew the Viceroy of Alderaan would have an unending series of questions for him, demanding to know why he, the highly respected Acting and erstwhile Senator and former Supreme Chancellor, hadn't provided his homeworld's leaders with any clue about this.  He doubted that the admission, however true, that Padmé still had the capacity to surprise him would help matters any.  

Quickly he toggled the viewscreen's image to the Chancellor's podium, where Sabé stood impassively.  So she had known of Padmé's plan, apparently, but no one else.  It wasn't the first time.  

With a contemplative shrug Bail toggled the image to Padmé again and leaned forward to listen to her address.  Finally the rumbling murmur in the gigantic chamber had subsided and she began to speak.  Her voice flowed from the audio device in Bail's pod with a grace and authority and clarity that never failed to make him shiver.  

"Chancellor Regent Bellion, my fellow Senators, honorable Representatives of the Republic, my fellow citizens.  I am Amidala of Naboo," she repeated with more emotion than the first time, "and I stand before you as a candidate for Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.  In a matter of days our great democracy has witnessed the most rapid changes in leadership in all the centuries of its existence.  We have seen the assassination of a respected and long-serving Chancellor and the murder of the enthusiastic and dedicated young man we had chosen as his successor.  So tumultuous were the circumstances that this body despaired at selecting another leader until the ancient procedure of the Regency was invoked.  Now we stand at the threshold of disorder in the Senate, for none of us has been willing to take up the mantle of our fallen comrades."  

"I will do so," she said simply.  The image of Padmé seemed to stand up straighter and gain resolve.  "This is not a time in which the Republic and the Senate can afford to be weak.  We have declared war against our enemy, and now we must wage that war until the enemy is vanquished.  Argis and his Vyhrragian legions press onward against us each day, not only conquering more planets in the Mid Rim but also bringing death and suffering to innocent civilians far from the theater of war.  This tyrant – this despot – this madman must be stopped.  As Supreme Chancellor, I will direct the Army and Navy to implement immediately a plan of complete and total war through use of overwhelming strength.  With the authority granted by the Declaration of War I will empower our commanders to unleash the full extent of our military capabilities against the enemy.  This is my first pledge – when I am your Chancellor, Argis will discover that he has not yet learned the definition of war."  

As an ovation like a peal of afternoon thunder swelled in the chamber, Bail heard a soft sniffling from the seat beside him.  He turned and smiled at Nalé Bellion, who had joined him again while her mother presided over the session.  Gently he reached out to hold her hand reassuringly while he tenderly wiped a few tears off her cheek with his other hand.  "Everything will be fine," he whispered to the girl.  "We must have faith." 

The applause quieted and Padmé resumed her speech.  "And our enemy is more than simply Argis and his military.  It is something far more dangerous and far more alarming.  For the last half year we have known of Argis' so-called Crusaders of Justice, whom the tyrant maintains are benign Force-wielders dedicated to the goals of justice and rightness his New Justice movement purports to expound.  But no less than Argis' political claims are lies, so are his claims about his Crusaders.  The time has come to put aside our differences within this body and accept the disturbing truth the evidence plainly reveals – Sith Lords have returned to the galaxy, and Argis has allied himself with that dreadful menace from the past.  The Jedi Knights are numerous and strong and valiant, and once given the approval of the Senate they will stop at nothing to free us from the torment of these warriors of darkness.  This is my second pledge – when I am your Chancellor, we will defeat not only Argis and his minions but the Sith as well."  

The applause was less vigorous this time, which Bail knew reflected the reluctance of many Senators to admit to themselves or their constituents that the Sith were again threatening the galaxy.  But the cheers of approval were strong nonetheless.  

"These two threats pose the most significant danger to the Republic we have faced in many generations," Padmé continued at the first opportunity.  "Even the violence of the short-lived Separatist insurrection two decades ago pales in comparison to the threats we now face.  In these circumstances the very foundation of our democracy is at risk.  Only yesterday, before the selection of our able Chancellor Regent, this august body debated with serious minds and sober intentions the possibility of martial law.  While we stepped away from the brink this time, similar temptations will no doubt arise in the course of this conflict.  And other emergency powers exist, including those that may be invoked by the Chancellor.  Although I pray that I would never need to claim such authority, in the condition of the current war I know that I cannot in good conscience say that I would never do so.  Too much is at stake, too much at risk, for any such promise devoid of context and perfect foresight."

For a brief moment Padmé paused, then pressed ahead.  "As I stand before you, I hope that my actions in the past have proven to you my integrity.  Twice in my life, as Amidala of Naboo, I have held great power – and twice I have voluntarily relinquished it.  After two terms as Queen of my homeworld I walked away from the Royal Palace with no regrets and a happy heart.  Soon, however, my people called upon me to serve again, and I was elected to represent our star system in this body.  But fate had other ideas in mind for me, and after only two years I resigned my seat to claim the private life about which I had always dreamed."  A little smiled crossed Padmé's face for the first time during her speech.  "Of course my life has never been especially private, nor have I ever truly been far from the political circles of our great Republic.  And yet my life was not one of power and authority and leadership.  Had I sought those things, I have no doubt I could have attained them.  They were not – and are not – my ambition.  When I held power in the past, it was not as an end – not power for its own sake.  It was as a means – a means to the service of my people, who called upon me to serve."

"It is in the same spirit," she said, "that I stand before you now.  I have rather enjoyed my life away from active politics, and it was with a considerable measure of regret that I accepted the appointment by my friend Gannis Trellem to the at-large seat I currently hold.  His call to service was one I could not ignore, however, and I willingly set aside my personal objections to do my duty for the greater good.  I do the same today.  One of us must cast away our regrets and fears and accept the duty to serve in the highest office of our democracy.  I will do so.  This is my third pledge – when I am your Chancellor, I will serve the interests of our people for the good of all and will not be guided or swayed by ambition or power or any _force_ other than my duty to the Republic."

Another roar of approval from the delegates shook the enormous chamber.  While he stood in his pod and cheered with them, Bail pondered the seemingly out of place emphasis in her final sentence.  After a moment it dawned on him that he had completely misunderstood the significance of the appearance Padmé had chosen.  It was not merely, as he had supposed and she had mentioned, to remind the delegates of her prior service as Queen and Senator as a demonstration of her trustworthiness to wield the awesome powers of the Supreme Chancellor.  It was also to reinforce the image and name of Amidala – not Skywalker.  Her gambit of voice was a rhetorical mind trick, proving to her audience that Amidala was her own candidate, not the candidate of the Jedi Order.  Any doubts about her independence of will from her husband – which would be ignorant and absurd regardless – had been shunted aside by the dominant, regal personality of Amidala of Naboo.  

_Brilliant_, Bail thought to himself as he took his seat next to Nalé again, _absolutely brilliant.  Well done, my friend.  Well done.  No one will oppose you now.  No one._

---

Sarré stood in place in complete and utter shock.  One second Bryon had been turning around to answer her question about when they would retreat.  The next second his chest had exploded in a brilliant flash of lasers and blood, and his body had been thrown backward into the barricade where it smacked with a sickening thud and then slumped lifelessly down to the ground.  

Around her she heard the soldiers reacting.  "Where's the shooter?"  "Check the rooftops!"  "They're still coming!"  "Hold them off!"  But Sarré could only stand and stare.  Her husband lay in a heap at the base of the barricade, thin wisps of smoke rising from three blaster wounds in his chest.  It was as if his armor hadn't even been there.  And he hadn't screamed in pain or said a word.  He just lay there, unconscious and unmoving.  

Sarré finally told her feet to move again, and she rushed forward the few paces to him.  She tugged him away from the barricade, laid him down on his back, and kneeled next to him.  His eyes were closed and his body was limp.  She was pretty sure he wasn't breathing, but she could see from the pulsing veins on his neck that his heart still was beating.  For now.  

A moment later Kessa arrived and kneeled down opposite Sarré.  The young corporal in gray battle armor dropped a medpac in front of her began to dig through it frantically.  Her hands emerged with sealed packages of bandages.  Kessa tore one open and handed the contents to Sarré.  "Put it in the wounds," she ordered.  "It's the best we can do for now.  It'll stop the bleeding."  

The bacta-soaked fabric squished in Sarré's fingers as she took the bandage from Kessa.  She had no idea how she did it, but somehow Sarré compelled her fingers to press the fabric into one of the holes in Bryon's armor, using two fingers to wedge into him as much of the healing bandage as she could.  

"Here's another," Kessa said.  

Sarré took it from her and pressed the soggy bandage into another wound.  Then she looked up to see Kessa finishing doing the same on the third hole.  "What now?"  

Kessa had a grim look on her face.  "Talk to him.  Reassure him.  Try to get him to open his eyes or breathe.  Do whatever you can."  Her hand emerged from the medpac holding a huge syringe with a needle of truly appalling girth.  "I'll give him the cardiac stimulant, and hook up the breather.  And anything else we've got in here that might work."

"Okay," Sarré nodded and looked down at Bryon again.  Even after the nauseating sound of the needle being inserted into his arm Bryon did not react.  Sarré tore one of his gloves off and gripped his bare hand in both of hers.  She leaned down and kissed his forehead.  "I'm here, Bryon," she said.  "I'm here.  You're going to be okay.  Can you hear me?"

While Kessa worked desperately to get the breather attached to his mouth, Sarré looked for any sign of life in Bryon.  His chest was not rising or falling.  The pulse in his wrist already was becoming weaker.  And his eyes still were closed.  

"Give me a sign, Bryon, please," she pleaded.  "I know you can hear me.  I'm here.  You're going to be okay.  Let me know that you can hear me.  Open your eyes or squeeze my hand.  Anything.  Just let me know you're still with me.  Please, Bryon, please."  

The breather device began a slow hissing intake, followed by a popping sound and a hissing outtake.  Bryon's chest moved a little, but not much.  And still he did not respond to her words.  

Sarré leaned her face down to Bryon's.  His skin was now completely pale and his eyes remained closed.  She clenched his hand firmly and whispered in his ear so not even Kessa could overhear.  "Don't leave me, Bryon," she sobbed.  "I need you.  I'm pregnant, Bryon.  I found out on the _Falcon_ and I kept trying to tell you but I just never had the chance to tell you because we never got to be alone and I'm sorry I didn't tell you I know I should have and I'm really, really sorry and I need you so much please don't die please, please don't die you have to make it you just have to."

There was no reaction from him.  No reaction at all.  All around them the zinging retorts of blaster fire and explosions of laser hits filled the air with noise and acrid smoke. 

"Please don't die, Bryon, please," Sarré begged as she rested her tear-soaked cheek against his.  The breather device hissed and popped and hissed next to her ear.  "I need you.  I need you so much.  You can't die.  You can't die!  I need you to help me raise our baby."

Very faintly – but clearly nonetheless – she felt him squeeze her hand.  


	14. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

As she continued to retreat from the diabolical visage of her former Master, Danaé realized that in her attempt to probe his feelings for some small seed of goodness still alive within his spirit she had failed to think strategically about her position in the government building.  The corridor in which she now found herself reached a dead-end only ten meters away.  Her lack of attention had allowed him to drive her into a last stand.  

"There is no escape, Danaé," admonished the dark figure that once was Oga Trill.  "Your destiny cannot be evaded any longer.  Come with me and claim the glory that is rightfully yours!" 

He was correct about one thing: there was no escape.  She would have to bring him back to the light side or fight him.  There was no other way.  "I will not join you, Oga.  I will not."

"Do not make the same mistake your father did," he growled.  "The power of the Force is yours to harness.  It is yours.  Claim it!  It is your destiny!"  With quick strides he closed the distance between them and attacked, launching a barrage of fierce strikes with his shimmering red lightsaber.  "Search your feelings," he said between arcs of his swings.  "You know it to be true."  

Danaé felt the Force flowing through her body with ease, guiding her blade with expert precision to parry away the entire assault.  "No, Oga," she said, being careful that she did not call him _Master_.  "It is you who are mistaken.  I do not know how you succumbed to the dark side or why, but it is not too late.  It is never too late.  It is you who must join me.  You were once a great Jedi, and you can be one again.  I will help you.  Open your feelings and release the darkness within you.  You are my friend.  I will help you.  I will always help you." 

The man who formerly had been her beloved tutor only laughed as he continued his attack unrelentingly.  "Foolish girl, you are still mired in the misguided notions of your father.  He knows nothing of the true might of the Force.  He never came close to realizing his potential, even those few times he used its power.  I do not want your help, for it is my path that controls the future.  The Jedi are weak, and I will be weak no longer." 

With a great act of will Danaé squelched the tears building in her eyes while she swung her green blade in a brilliant blur to deflect away all of his strikes.  "Please, Oga," she beseeched.  "It is never too late.  Come with me and I will help you."

"No, Danaé, it is you who will come with me," her opponent said.  Another barrage of strikes from the red blade drove her nearly to the wall behind her.  "You must join me.  It is the only way.  Do not compel me to follow the other route, although I will do so if I must."

Danaé's defenses continued to hold – barely.  She didn't know how much longer she could sustain this.  As much as she had improved with the lightsaber in recent months, Oga was one of the greatest swordsmen in the history of the Jedi Order.  "The other route?"  

A grim frown crossed Oga's face.  "If you will not be turned, you will be destroyed."  

"Then you will have to destroy me," she said.  Danaé used a quick counter-attack to drive him back a few steps, then found herself entirely on the defensive again.  After her probing in the living Force, after begging him to come with her and abandon the darkness, she had found no sign of goodness within him.  And now it seemed as though he meant what he said – if she did not surrender, he would kill her.  On his face and in the Force she found no evidence of any weakness or regret.  He would do it.  He would not falter.  The man she had loved like a member of her own family never could have done such a thing.  Oga Trill was truly gone.  

"Why, Danaé?" asked her former Master solemnly without reducing the ferocity of his attacks.  "I do not wish to destroy you.  I am proud of you now, and I will be only more proud when we have completed your training and your path to your destiny is fully underway.  It cannot be any other way.  You are the woman you are today because of what you learned from me.  You are my apprentice – past, present, and future."   

Danaé snapped aside another strike and strode backward several steps until her back brushed against the wall at the corridor's dead-end.  _You are wrong,_ she thought.  _You are very wrong.  I have learned from many people besides you.  My mother.  My sister.  My brothers.  Master Kenobi.  Master Windu.  Master Yoda.  All of them have made me who I am today, not just you._  Her former Master still stood a few paces away, his ruby laser sword at the ready.  With a deep breath Danaé drove the last of the hope and regret and sorrow and fear from her spirit and found again the true, profound serenity she had attained for the first time in her life on Dagobah.  "No," she said sadly.  "I am not yours."  

In Danaé's awareness the myriad possibilities crystallized in her mind's eye.  She could see the shatterpoint as clearly as if she had known how to find them all her life – she could see the man before her for the mortal enemy he had become and could perceive the fatal weakness he did not know he had.  

In that moment she acted.  __

Danaé clamped down her emotions and refused to feel anything when she charged forward, her emerald blade gripped firmly in both hands and raised above her head.  As her impossibly fast attacks began, her opponent gaped at her in shock.  The sight tore at her soul, so she closed her eyes and drew solely upon the purifying warmth of the light side of the Force.  Although she knew he wouldn't hear, not with his own battles to fight, she willed the message into the Force anyway.  _I love you, Daddy._

---

When Kessa closed the medpac and sprang to her feet, Sarré remained kneeling at Bryon's side, holding his hand in both of hers and whispering silent prayers and pleas that he wouldn't die.  Through the cacophony of the skirmish between their soldiers on this side of the barricade and the attacking brownshirts beyond she heard a panicked discussion begin behind her.  

"We have to retreat _now_," Will Graff was saying.  "We don't have a choice.  We can't hold this position much longer."  

"He can't be moved," Kessa shouted angrily.  "Moving him that way might kill him."  

"We don't have time to waste, Corporal," he snapped.  "If we don't retreat, we'll all die along with him." 

"We'll just have to hold, then," Kessa spat.  

Graff leaned down and put a hand on Sarré's shoulder.  "Say your goodbyes," he said.  "We have to retreat." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Sarré growled.  "Not without Bryon."  

"We'll be overrun and you'll be killed," Graff replied flatly.  "Do you think that's what he would want?" 

Sarré's fist flashed up and smacked his hand off her shoulder with a powerful martial arts blow.  "How dare you!  You have no right to speak to me that way!" 

"I'm going to order the retreat," Graff said.  "The choice is yours."

Sarré stared viciously into his eyes and unleashed all of her fury.  "_I__ won't leave him!_"

Graff flinched and looked at Kessa.  "If you have any alternative, now's the time to suggest it." 

"I have an idea that will work, but you have to promise you won't have me charged with insubordination," she said.  

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he shrugged, "but go ahead."  

Kessa snatched her comlink from her belt and tapped in a code.  "Command, come in.  Command, do you copy?"

"Copy, this is Command," replied the male voice of a communications officer.  

"Command, this is Brevet Captain Kessa Brittin.  I have field command of Alpha squad.  I am ordering you to send an evac gunship to my location immediately." 

The voice on the comlink paused.  "Copy.  But I can't do that, sir.  The standing orders prohibit it."

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear," Kessa snarled.  "This is _Brevet__ Captain_ Brittin in command of _Alpha_ squad.  I am countermanding the standing orders on the authority of Major Skywalker, who is gravely injured.  Unless you would like to be held personally accountable for his death, I suggest you do as I ordered."  Just as she finished a laser blast smacked into the barricade just off Kessa's shoulder, helpfully emphasizing her point.  

The voice paused again.  "Copy, Captain," he finally said.  "A gunship will be at your location momentarily."

Graff gaped at Kessa as she snapped the comlink to her belt again.  "You should be court-martialed for that," he bellowed.  "I can't even imagine how many regulations you just violated!" 

Kessa only looked sadly into his eyes.  "If it saves his life, it's worth it.  And no one knows the truth but you."

"I'll keep my promise," Graff sighed as his glare became even angrier.  "But Corporal, don't you _ever_ do that again!  _Ever!_" 

Kessa nodded and looked at the ground.  "Understood, Captain." 

---

With Chewie at his side and barely more than half of their thirty Army regulars still alive, Han led a rapid retreat through the wide opening of a docking bay of the government building's hangar.  Dozens of brownshirts were surging forward after them, the enemy's blaster fire zinging past their heads or smashing into the walls and ground.  The Republic soldiers returned fire, but the casualties they caused seemed to make no dent in numbers against them.  

Behind him Han heard the drives of the enormous Navy transport roaring at full readiness – the starship could take off as soon as he gave the order.  He looked quickly over his shoulder to see Lando and Leia hustling the last of the refugees up the boarding ramp.  Their mission had succeeded.  The refugees were about to be evacuated.  

But Han didn't want to give the order just yet.  The squad of Special Forces troops led by Leia's brother hadn't caught up to them, and he'd been unable to raise them on the comlink.  His orders from Major Skywalker were clear: evacuate immediately, no matter what.  But Han couldn't bring himself to abandon the Special Forces to the enemy.  Maybe if he could hold off the brownshirts just a little bit longer, the Special Forces would get here.  

Han and his men stood their ground just inside the docking bay.  For a minute they managed to keep the brownshirts from advancing, but soon the barrage of incoming blaster bolts from the enemy simply became too much and their men began to fall.  They retreated again into the docking bay, keeping enough distance from the brownshirts to ensure they would be able to reach the boarding ramp in time.  

Suddenly an explosion rocked the docking bay.  Han turned around to see that one of the blast doors on the side wall had been blown open and brownshirts were pouring through with blaster rifles blazing.  Instantly Han made a decision.  "Birks!  Chewie!  Take half the team and stop them!  Now!  Go!" 

Chewie nodded and burst toward the new enemies with Sergeant Birks and eight Army regulars on his heels.  Their blaster fire stopped the brownshirts' charge in its tracks.  That gave Han and the six regulars with him just enough time to retreat toward the transport again.  

With his group retreating from the docking bay's wide opening and Chewie's holding a weak position on the flank, Han realized both groups couldn't make it.  There were too many brownshirts and not enough time.  If they continued this way, both groups would be captured, and he wasn't about to let that happen.  

"Chewie!  Break off!  Get on the ship!  Now!"  Chewie looked over his shoulder and growled a negative.  Han met his eyes and yelled back.  "No!  Chewie, get onboard.  That's an order!"  

While still firing madly at the approaching brownshirts, Han watched Chewie and his four survivors rush up the boarding ramp of the transport.  Han snatched the comlink from his belt and barked into it.  "Transport Alpha, you are green.  Repeat, green.  Get out of here."  

The reply from the transport's captain was filled with reluctance.  "Understood, Captain Solo.  May the Force be with you."  

Then Han heard Leia shouting from the top of the boarding ramp, which had raised from the floor and already was almost halfway up.  "No!  No," she cried.  "Stop!  We can't leave him!"  

Han wished he could turn his back on the three surviving soldiers at his side, run to the transport, and jump aboard in the nick of time.  But he couldn't do that – not if he wanted to respect himself as a man and an officer ever again.  "It'll be okay, Princess," he shouted back.  "Take care of her, Chewie."

The Wookiee's soaring roar of acknowledgement and pain tore through the air.  Leia stared in disbelief, tears streaming down her cheeks.  She tried to run down the closing ramp, but Chewie wrapped his enormous arms around her waist and held her back.  Frantically she stretched out both arms toward Han and screamed to him over the thundering of the transport's drives.  "I love you."  

Han flashed his best lopsided grin before he shouted back, "I know."  

In the next instant the transport lifted off and flew over his head with a deafening rumble.  He caught one last glimpse of Leia's tear-soaked face as the boarding ramp sealed shut.  Then Han turned to face the brownshirts who'd surrounded him.  The enemy soldiers had stopped firing, but he and his three companions had no chance.  Han took a deep breath, bent down to place his blaster rifle on the ground, and stood again with his hands held up in surrender.  

---

Danaé eyes popped open when the Force told her it was over.  Her father's personal technique had worked to perfection, as she had known it would.  Without conscious thought she deactivated her weapon.  

In that same instant the meaning of what she had done crushed her with the weight of a thousand ingots of aurodium.  Oga Trill was dead.  And she had killed him.  

She slumped to her knees and stared down at the body of her slain opponent.  In her heart she knew she had done the right thing, the only thing she could have done.  He had turned to evil and had left her no choice.  Her life or his, darkness or light, hatred or love.  Danaé had done her duty as a Jedi – exactly what the Master Trill she had known and loved would have wanted.  

But that did not make the awful truth any easier to bear.  Tears began to stream down her cheeks and sobs wracked her shaking body.  "Why, Oga?  Why?"  Hiccups and gasps dragged air into her lungs as she screamed into the quiet air of the deserted hallway.  "How could you do this?  Why?" 

Her mental controls weakened and then collapsed and her emotions poured into her mind with the rush of a mountain avalanche.  Unable to do anything else Danaé gazed at the lifeless face of her dead mentor and cried.  

---

Darth Vengous retreated several steps under the furious barrage of strikes from the boy.  Finally her provocation had achieved its intended effect.  The boy's rage had overpowered his Jedi training and he now attacked her with reckless abandon.  So much like his father as a young man, Skywalker's son was utterly out of control – and vulnerable.  

The boy surged forward again, his blue blade swinging wildly at her head.  Vengous parried away the offensive, then stepped precisely to the side and out of his line of attack.  When the boy turned to face her, she suddenly launched the strongest, fastest offensive yet.  Her arcs barely missed as the boy sought frantically to defend himself.  It was only a matter of time now.  Only a matter of time.  

After the boy ducked and rolled away to avoid a near-decapitation, Vengous charged to attack again as he sprang to his feet.  "Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the dark side," she sneered.  

"You haven't beaten me yet," the boy growled, his turquoise laser sword slipping around her parry and spearing toward her chest.  

  
Vengous slid easily to the side and swiped his weapon away.  "Perhaps not, young Skywalker," she said.  "But you do not yet know the measure of my powers."  

The boy's eyes widened in shock when she pressed another blistering attack.  Her blade arced high and low, in and out, over and under.  The boy was talented, certainly, but he was no match for nearly two decades of Sith expertise – especially now that he had lost all control over his emotions.  In a matter of seconds she had him totally confounded, his defenses lost and his position hopeless.  

With a single swift arc of her scarlet blade she cut through his right arm just above the wrist.  

The boy's severed hand, lightsaber still ignited in its grip, flew across the docking back until it fell to the floor and the deactivating weapon clattered away.  Screaming in agony, the boy collapsed to the floor and clutched his arm to his chest with his remaining hand.  

  
Vengous strode the two paces to him, smiling broadly as she towered over the prone, defenseless Padawan.  She lowered her shimmering red lightsaber until its tip hovered at the boy's throat.  "And now, young Skywalker," she crowed triumphantly, "you will die."

---

Jedi Master and apprentice stood side by side, their lightsabers forming whirling discs of turquoise and violet in front of them.  The barrage of incoming lasers from the brownshirts' blaster rifles met the impenetrable wall of light and scattered away in all directions in a kaleidoscope of color.  As the onrushing soldiers drew closer, more and more blaster bolts began to sail straight back into their ranks.  With each meter forward the squad lost another member.  

No conscious thoughts guided Anakin's hands as his blue laser sword danced masterfully through the air, slicing and arcing with impossible speed to repel bolts and deflect many back at the shooters.  Through the battle meld he could sense Mara's equally brilliant flow in the Force as her purple weapon did the same.  In only a few more seconds the brownshirts would be close enough to begin the melee, when he and she would spring in Force-powered leaps to opposite sides of the enemy formation and converge on the center.  

The nineteen remaining brownshirts in the squad stood no chance against the power of Vaapad.  

Anakin took a series of four slow, calming breaths to prepare for his onslaught against the soldiers.  He stilled his racing heartbeat and quieted his troubled mind.  For the moment he even cast aside his aching desperation to save Bryon; it would have to wait until the task at hand had been accomplished.  He perceived Mara imposing on herself a similar calm and readying her stance for the jump. 

In that exact instant – in that precise moment when the deadly attack was to begin – right after he had restored a measure of Jedi Master tranquility to his tumultuous thoughts – just when he could least afford it to happen – an unrelenting rolling wave of dreadful emotions assaulted Anakin through the Force.  

He felt Leia cry out in a heart-rending anguish he had not sensed since Jarren's death and the grief-induced miscarriage she had concealed from everyone in the family but him.  

He felt Danaé collapse in soul-searing despair, and knew immediately she had been forced to kill Oga Trill, her old Master – the worst possible act a Jedi could ever have to perform.  

He felt Luke stare in unspeakable horror at the stump of his right arm, where the iridescent blade of a lightsaber had severed his hand just above the wrist.  

And in that same instant he understood something with complete and utter clarity.  He had known all along that the Sith were out to destroy him – to rise to galactic domination by slaying the Chosen One and disproving the ancient Jedi prophecy, as the Sith Master already had tried once to do.  And he had assumed since the beginning that failing this they would try to kill Padmé, hoping that the loss of his beloved wife, the very essence and center and solid base of his soul, would drive him to death or the dark side.  

But Padmé was not the target.  

His children were the targets. 

All of them.  Bryon.  Leia.  Danaé.  Luke.  All of them.  

As the split second wave of horrifying emotions and its accompanying vision of nauseating clarity ended, Anakin sprang high into the air in a twisting triple back-flip that brought him down squarely on his feet at the precise midpoint of the left side of the squad of nineteen brownshirts.  Simultaneously Mara landed opposite him across the enemy formation.  With the shock of his children's pain and the appalling revelation piercing him to his very core, Anakin's turquoise blade began to strike high and low, back and forth, across and through.  Brownshirts fell like prairie grass to a scythe.  

But Anakin did not see brownshirts.  He saw the Sith.  They were trying to take his children from him, and he was not about to permit it.  The Sith would not succeed.  He would kill them.  He would kill every last one of them.  

With one swing of his shimmering turquoise laser sword four brownshirts died – and Anakin smiled.  

---

The firefight at the barricade had become so intense that the screech of blaster fire was deafening and thick smoke filled the air.  Sarré was propped on the barricade next to Bryon's body, firing blindly through the haze in the direction of their opponents.  Kessa was at her shoulder, doing the same.  Around them the Special Forces soldiers sent volley after volley of laser fire at the enemy.  

Suddenly a rain of deadly lasers flew downward from the sky into the smoke beyond the barricade and the roar of a gunship's atmospheric rocket-drive shook Sarré's ribs in her chest.  The barrage of cannon blasts continued a few more seconds, then ceased.  A battered, pock-marked medic/evac gunship swerved into view through the smoke and dropped into a hover just behind the barricade.  An Army officer in gray battle armor shouted to them from the open side of the gunship.  "Go!  Go!  Go!"  

In an instant two Special Forces soldiers snatched Bryon's body under the arms and carried it between them toward the gunship.  To the sides Sarré saw other troopers doing likewise with the rest of the casualties – some dead, some wounded.  She and Kessa ran to the gunship at full speed, arriving just ahead of the two men carrying Bryon. 

"Major Skywalker needs a field bacta tank!  Now!" ordered Kessa.  

"In the back," a medic waved to them from the opening that separated the gunship's main hold from a rear cargo area.  "Follow me."  

Sarré, Kessa, and the two soldiers rushed after him.  

"This one," the medic pointed to a metal container along the wall, one of six such containers in the small space.  "It's free.  Put him in there and I'll be back to check on him."

"We've got it," Kessa told the two soldiers.  "Thank you."  

The two men eased Bryon's body to the ground, saluted crisply, and hustled back through the opening to the main area of the gunship.  From there Sarré heard Graff's voice shouting instructions.  "Hurry!  Go!"  He paused.  "All clear.  We're aboard.  Get us out of here!"  Almost instantaneously the gunship's rocket-drive roared to life again and the vehicle jolted as it soared away into the sky.  

"Help me!  Quickly!" shouted Kessa to Sarré over the drive's thundering rumble as she began to tear at the clasps of Bryon's armor with her fingers.  "We need to get this armor off.  We need to do it now!"  

With Kessa on the left, Sarré kneeled on the right and began to undo the fasteners.  Her mind flashed back to the last time she had taken off his armor for him – in a bedroom in the Lake Country about a month ago.  The contrast to now made her want to scream in agony.  

After a few seconds they had succeeded in removing the chest and back plates of the armor.  "Good enough," Kessa said as she ripped the breather device from the medpac out of his mouth too.  "That's the only place the bacta needs to get, so we can just leave the rest on.  Come on, help me get him in there."  

Sarré grabbed under Bryon's arm and lifted.  The incredible weight of his mostly armored body caused her to stagger, nearly losing her balance.  They dragged him several paces to the field tank the medic had indicated.  A little over two meters long, a meter across, and half a meter deep, the metal container had a set of blinking lights on its exterior panel.  

"Open," said Kessa clearly in the direction of the panel.  The lid rose swiftly with a whir.  

Sarré tugged with all her strength to lift Bryon's utterly limp body over the edge of the field tank.  She and Kessa managed to do it, though, and his savagely bloodied torso slid easily into the thick yellowish liquid.  Ungracefully Kessa heaved his legs over the edge too and let them slosh into the tank.  Bryon sank into the translucent goop.

"Close," Kessa said, and the lid obeyed with another whir of its servomotor. 

"How will he breathe?" Sarré asked.  "Won't he drown?"  

"He would eventually, yes," Kessa replied.  "But the medic will be back soon and in that time it's fine.  In fact, a little bacta in his lungs might actually help at this point."  

"Oh," Sarré said.  "Okay."  Then she slumped to the floor of the gunship and stared at the sealed metal container that held Bryon's mutilated body.  Kessa sat down next to her and took her hand, but didn't say anything.  Sarré continued to stare, letting tears stream freely down her cheeks.  Her teardrops splashed against the front of her jumpsuit, its white and bright red colors now streaked with huge crimson swaths of Bryon's blood.  Since he'd squeezed her hand when she'd told him about the baby, he'd given her no other signs of life.  He hadn't coughed or tried to speak.  He hadn't moved his fingers or hands or arms or legs.  His eyes hadn't opened.  Maybe it was already too late.  Maybe Bryon was already dead.  Maybe the squeeze hadn't been a promise to live, but a farewell.  Sarré began to cry even harder, still staring helplessly at the field tank.

If it weren't for the blinking panel on the side, she would've thought it was a coffin.  

---

Danaé had no idea how long she had been kneeling over the corpse of Oga Trill when a sharp rip of pain sheared through the Force and blasted her into immediate readiness.  Even before she could understand what she had perceived she sprang to her feet, snapped her lightsaber handle into her palm, and ignited the shimmering emerald blade.  

After a moment's contemplation she realized it was Luke.  He had been injured.  Badly, but not fatally.  Exactly how she couldn't tell, but she knew it was serious.  Serious enough that if the enemy who had harmed him was still there, his life would be in imminent danger.  

With a final somber glance at her slain Master, Danaé broke into a run down the dimly lit hallway.  Powering her feet with the Force she nearly flew along the stone floor, surging toward the center of the massive government building.  Quickly she stretched out her feelings in the Force to search for Luke.  After a few seconds she determined he was still on the far side of the structure where he had been sent when she had come to this side.  

Knowing she wouldn't be able to find his exact position until she was much closer, Danaé tried to stretch out further with her feelings to check on the others.  But the blazing currents of churning energy in the Force were too frenetic for her to penetrate under these conditions, when she needed to keep so much of her concentration on her wounded brother.  With a quick deep breath she suppressed her anxiety about them and focused solely on Luke again.  

His presence in the Force remained strong, but it was riddled with pain and anger and fear.  She'd never sensed him in this kind of emotional turmoil before, even on other occasions when he'd been injured.  And she had no doubt that he was in grave danger.  

Locking her awareness to Luke's signature in the Force, Danaé pulled more of its energy into her body and ran faster than she ever had before.  The walls sailed by in a blur and her blazing green weapon hummed bright arcs through the air as her bounding strides carried her along with awesome speed.  She ran as if her life depended on it – because she knew her brother's did.  

---

Leia strained against Chewbacca's arms around her waist.  The boarding ramp door was closed, but still she struggled and squirmed to get away, as if somehow she could get to Han.  Yet the Wookiee held her tightly.  "Let me go," she screamed in agony.  "Let me go, you big walking carpet!"  

Without a sound Chewie released her from his grasp.  Leia stumbled forward and slumped face-first into the upright surface of the closed boarding ramp.  "No!  No!"  

Behind her she heard Chewie wroof a quiet warning to someone.  The new arrival spoke anyway.  "Senator Organa, are you injured?" asked Calrissian.  

Leia spun around and glared at him.  "You left him!  You left him!  What kind of friend are you?  Get out of my sight, Lando," she said coldly.  

Calrissian did not say a word.  

Leia turned around again and began to beat her fists on wall of the transport.  "You left him," she sobbed, new tears flooding from her eyes.  "You left him.  You left him."  

The pain stung at her hands as she pounded them over and over and over on the metal wall.  But she didn't care.  No amount of physical pain could possibly overcome the stabbing anguish in her heart.  Finally her body made her stop and she collapsed to the floor in a heap.  She stared at the throbbing, stinging, piercing red splotches on her hands and fought the urge to find her blaster rifle and make someone – anyone – pay for what had happened.  

Then she felt herself being hauled to her feet in Chewie's arms and pulled into a fierce embrace.  Lando's hands rested gently on her shoulders as she cried into the Wookiee's fur.  "We'll rescue Han, Senator," said Calrissian as reassuringly as he could.  "I promise."  

---

Boba Fett stood patiently in a mechanical room deep within the hangar facility.  His arms were crossed over his chest and his blaster rifle was slung over his shoulder by its strap.  He was beginning to grow impatient, but he had not become successful by giving in to such emotions.  So he simply waited.  

Finally the door to the room swished open and a group of brownshirts entered.  The sergeant leading the group removed his helmet and walked straight to Fett.  "We have him," said the Vyhrragian officer, a former mercenary and an acquaintance of Fett's of many years.  

Fett kept his own helmet on.  "Very good.  Bring him in."  

Two brownshirts came through the door dragging a man restrained in stuncuffs between them.  The captive was dressed in the black covert-operations fatigues of the Republic Navy.  It was definitely Solo.  

"Well done, Sergeant," Fett said, waving them forward.  "Over here."  

As the pair of brownshirts hauled him ahead, Solo glared at the bounty hunter.  "You won't get away with this, Fett!"  

"Save your breath, Solo," said Fett snidely.  "You'll need it to beg Jabba to spare your life."

Before Solo could react, Fett flicked his wrist and a small dart shot out from a chamber concealed within the armor plating on his forearm.  The dart stung Solo in the side of the neck.  After only a second Solo's eyelids sagged and his body hung limply in the brownshirt's grip.  

Fett waved his hand and the brownshirts released Solo, who fell forward and smacked face-first to the stone floor.  After confirming that Solo was alive and in the deep slumber imposed by the dart's incapacitating toxin, Fett strode over to the sergeant, reached down to a pouch on his belt, and withdrew two glimmering aurodium ingots.  "Your payment, as promised," he said.  

The sergeant nodded his thanks.  "Why does the Hutt want Solo, anyway?"

"Retaliation for his anti-smuggling ops with the Republic Navy," laughed Fett.  "Why else do the Hutts do anything, but vengeance or profit?"  Then his voice became entirely serious.  "Have you thought about becoming a bounty hunter?  Most of my colleagues are far less competent than you.  I could use a reliable partner, and you'll live longer than doing mercenary work."

"Maybe when this war's over," the Vyhrragian officer replied thoughtfully.  "For now, the pay's top notch and there's been little danger.  I'm happy enough."

"To each his own," Fett nodded.  He extended his hand and the sergeant shook it.  "You're sure your superiors won't notice they're missing a prisoner?"  

The sergeant grinned mischievously.  "What prisoner?"  

Fett slapped his old comrade on the back and laughed heartily.  

---

Luke watched in horror as the Sith Master drew her shimmering red lightsaber to the side and swung it powerfully downward through the air toward his throat.  So surreal was the moment that he didn't have any time to contemplate his own death.  He just knew he was going to die, and that was it.  

At the very last possible instant a blazing turquoise laser sword appeared only a hairsbreadth from Luke's face and collided with the scarlet blade with an ear-splitting screech and a shower of sparks.  

In the next instant the blue blade heaved the red one away and Luke rolled to the side to safety.  He staggered to his feet to see his Master squaring off against the Sith Master, their lightsabers humming and whirring as they prepared to engage.  Pinning his severed wrist against his abdomen, Luke reached out with his left hand, closed his eyes, and called his weapon into his palm with the Force.  He opened his eyes again as he ignited the blue blade and tried to steel his strength to join the fight.  

"No, Luke," said Master Obi-Wan firmly.  "Go!  Now!  Go!"  

The Sith Master swung a powerful series of strikes, and with some effort Master Obi-Wan parried them away.  "Master," Luke said through a grimace of pain, "I can help.  Let me…" 

"No, Luke," his Master shouted as he took the offensive against the Sith Master.  "Go!  This is an order.  Go now!  Do not disobey me this time."  

Luke flinched at the memory of the duel with the young blonde Sith on Xixus half a year ago.  Together the two of them had almost been killed, and now Master Obi-Wan was ordering him away from a duel with a much stronger Sith.  But Luke also knew he was gravely wounded, and by trying to help he would get himself killed for sure.  "Yes, Master," he gasped through his pain, deactivating his weapon and clipping it to his belt.  "May the Force be with you."  

Retreating slowly without turning around, Luke was unable to take his eyes from the vicious, terrible lightsaber battle between the Jedi Master and the Sith Master.  As he reached the door to the hallway, he heard Master Obi-Wan's voice in his mind through the Force.  _"Run, Luke!  Run!"_

Luke ran.

---

Mara's shimmering violet lightsaber struck down the last standing brownshirt just as the thundering roar of repulsorlift drives shook the plaza with the strength of a groundquake.  She raised her eyes to see three gigantic enemy troop transports lowering into landing hovers only fifty meters away.  The stone tiles beneath her feet rumbled from the concussive blasts of the descending ships.  

Then she heard her Master's voice.  "No," he growled.  "No.  You will not stop me."  

The hair on the back of Mara's neck rose and beads of sweat formed on her brow.  Suddenly it felt as though the air around her had become immensely hotter, and at the edges of her perceptions she heard what sounded like the violent wail of a distant tornado bearing down on her.  Nausea tightened her stomach and her heartbeat raced.  And then she sensed a tremendous surge in the battle meld, a tsunami of energy crashing across the plaza.  

"No," Anakin said, louder this time – deeper, fiercer.  "No!"  His left palm flicked outward into the air, his fingers splaying as the surge in the Force became a deluge of pure power.  

Mara's eyes, dragged along in the battle meld, involuntarily followed the direction of his hand – and observed the impossible.  The troop transport on the left, a massive ship over thirty meters in length and many thousands of kilograms in weight, was yanked from its repulsor-hover and thrown backward through the air.  Like a child's toy tossed aside in a fit of spite, it tumbled uncontrollably across the plaza until it collided with the gray stone building that marked the plaza's far perimeter.  A massive explosion detonated, spewing chunks of stone and fragments of ship and equipment in all directions.  The churning fireball rose dozens of meters into the sky and fist-sized pieces of debris clanged down on the armor of the two remaining transports.  The shockwave from the blast shook the other vessels, sending soldiers sprawling from the open doors and knocking to the ground those who already had disembarked.  

The shockwave's strength had dissipated by the time it reached the two Jedi, but the heat of the inferno seemed to cling to them when it arrived.  Mara felt trickles of sweat pouring down her skin beneath her robes.  Troubled by the disturbing sensation she looked to her Master.  

He was staring at the two remaining transports and the dozens of brownshirts deploying on to the plaza from them.  His lightsaber was gripped tightly in both hands, his knuckles completely white.  His jaw was clenched in determination and his body was poised as if to spring the entire distance to the transports in a single leap.  His short gray hair was damp and matted and streams of perspiration ran down his face.  Most of all, though, she noticed his eyes – the usual sparkling mischief in the blue orbs was entirely gone, replaced by a grim fire that had turned the color of the sky into the pale transparency of arctic ice.  

Mara almost could not find her voice.  "Master?  What's wrong?"

Anakin did not respond.  He did not even look at her.  Instead he only stared straight ahead, his chilling gaze fixed to the approaching enemy soldiers.  

In the Force Mara could sense the brownshirts rushing toward them.  Dozens and dozens of them.  Maybe as many as a hundred.  "Master?  What strategy should we use?" 

Still Anakin did not speak.  He continued to stare.  

Mara felt the searing heat around her grow even hotter and heard the screeching destructiveness of a cyclone surround the two of them.  A furious, blazing, terrifying, howling, incomprehensible power tore in circles around her through the Force.  Yet in the battle meld she felt nothing unusual, as if everything were ordinary.  And then the awful truth became clear in her mind – and she knew the moment she had thought would never come was here.  This couldn't be happening.  It couldn't.  It was impossible.  He wouldn't do this.  He wouldn't.  He just wouldn't.  "Master!  Please!"  

Finally Anakin turned his head and met her gaze.  The vacant, deadly calm expression in his eyes stopped her heart.  

"Master?  What are you doing?"  Even as she spoke the words she knew the impossible was reality, and the entire universe was stood on its head.  He wouldn't.  He couldn't.  It had been the most unalterable truth in the galaxy.  But everything she thought she knew, everything she thought she understood, everything she thought she believed now was proven false in this single horrible moment.  

For the first time in her life Mara felt truly, profoundly, utterly afraid – afraid for her life – afraid for her soul – afraid of the dark side.  Afraid of Anakin Skywalker. 

---

While the applause echoed around her, Padmé gazed out over the sloped floor of the Senate chamber and marveled at the sight.  Never before, in all her years on Coruscant as an observer of the Republic's legislature, had she ever seen it this full.  Every star system that had not joined Argis' New Justice movement was represented.  Not a single loyal pod was empty.  It was astounding.  

"Victory is assured," she said firmly when the applause quieted again.  "The Republic is strong.  Our Army and Navy are far larger and far more powerful than the Vyhrragian legions and fleets at the tyrant's command.  Now, with war declared and the Republic dedicated to restoring justice and peace in the Mid Rim, our triumph is inevitable.  The enemy cannot hope to long withstand the overwhelming might of our military." 

Padmé took a deep breath and continued from the text slowly scrolling on her datapad.  "But do not for a moment allow yourselves to believe that victory will be easy.  It will not come quickly, and it will not come without cost.  As much as we might hope and pray for an immediate surrender, the enemy may not yield even in the face of impossible odds.  Countless battles must be waged to strip the enemy of his conquests and drive him back until nothing remains of his domain.  Planets will fall and many – civilian and military alike – will perish."  

"Our greatest enemy," she said grimly, "is not Argis and his armada.  It is time.  For as time passes and the war rages, we ourselves will begin to feel the cost of victory.  This will be no swift and painless capitulation like the defeat of an overmatched smashball team.  We will lose soldiers.  Tariffs on trade routes and taxes on wealth transfers will be raised to fund this war – there is no alternative.  We will lose starships and machines of war and innocent commercial vessels caught in the crossfire.  Our treasury will be strained as appropriations for the war effort necessarily escalate, and countless admirable and essential and worthy projects will be left without financing as every available resource is drawn to our cause.  We will lose battles and engagements and skirmishes across the theater of war.  Perhaps before all is done we will lose planets and star systems, only to have to retake them again before victory is ours.  Time is our enemy, for as the costs grow, the pain of victory will weaken our resolve and drain our spirits.  But I will not let time dilute my will toward victory."  

Padmé swallowed hard and fought back the tears she felt building in her eyes.  "I give you my solemn and sacred word that the Republic will prevail and Argis will be vanquished.  His insignificant rebellion will be remembered in history – if it is remembered at all – as nothing more than a tragic abuse of power and a poignant admonition that tyranny and terror must be met immediately and unrelentingly from the first moment they appear.  Victory is ours.  We need only choose to claim it."  

"But victory will not come without sacrifice."  She clenched the sides of the podium in her pod.  "Already thousands of our finest men and women have given their lives to defend the freedom and democracy for which this great and ancient Republic stands.  Many more will die for us before this war ends." 

She took another deep breath and made herself keep going.  "And do not think that my talk of sacrifice is nothing but idle words or mere rhetoric.  The burden is one I carry myself.  As I stand before you now, in this secured chamber in the protected capital, our military wages a desperate battle at Gimna 3 to evacuate refugees and remove them from the path of Argis' onslaught.  At this very moment my entire family is with them."  An audible gasp sounded in the gargantuan chamber as the other delegates realized what she had said.  "My husband leads squads of Jedi Knights against the enemy, including my son and daughter and his apprentice, whom I love like my own kin.  My other daughter, the Senator from Naboo, assists in the evacuation effort, while my youngest son, a major in the Army's Special Forces, commands the operation from the ground, in the very heart of the fighting.  This vicious battle still rages, and I do not know what fate it will bring to those I love."

"But I do know that regardless of what may come, even if I should lose someone dear to me, I will persevere.  That is what I must do for the Republic, and what one lost to me would want me to do."  She clutched the podium even tighter.  "It is my duty – the duty I have assumed by standing before you and declaring my willingness to serve.  Victory must be achieved, even at great cost to the Republic – and even at great cost to me."

Padmé dug deep within herself and found the strength to continue.  "Victory will be ours, but it will be a victory bought with blood and sweat and pain and loss.  The cost will be high, but I vow to you that whatever the price I will not be swayed from our objective.  Like the Republic, I will be strong.  Like the Republic, I will bind my wounds and carry on.  Like the Republic, I will not succumb to fear or exhaustion or grief.  Like the Republic, I will fight and fight until the enemy can take no more."

"Like the Republic," she said, her voice somehow booming and forceful again, "_I will never surrender!_"

---

Darth Vengous drove Kenobi backward with another triple-double combination of arcs and slices.  The venerable Jedi Master parried the attack away, but she knew she was testing the limits of his defenses.  He was strong in the Force, of course, but she was almost twenty years his junior – and stronger.  

"You cannot delay the inevitable," she snarled.  "Your sacrifice will be in vain, for soon young Skywalker will join you in death and I will have my triumph."

Kenobi blocked another attack, shoved her blade to the side, and retreated two more paces.  "I do what I believe is right," he said flatly.  "I leave destiny to the Force."  

"The Force will not save you today, old man," Vengous laughed as she closed the distance between them and took the offensive again.  "Nor will it save your apprentice." 

"You assume too much about my aims," Kenobi smiled.  "My life is a small price to pay to ensure your ultimate destruction." 

"How fortuitous, then, that you are willing to pay it," Vengous said.  "For pay it you shall."  

The Sith Master set her feet, swung her blazing scarlet laser sword to the ready, and charged.  Three quick thrusts drew Kenobi's blade out of position.  She snapped his blue weapon to the side and plunged her red blade straight through his chest.  For a long moment she held it there, staring into his eyes and grinning in triumph.  

Then she deactivated her blade and let Kenobi's lifeless body slump to the ground.  She called his weapon to her palm, retracted the blue blade, and clipped its handle to her belt as well.  Although the unexpected loss of Lord Malus was an annoying interference with her ultimate design, the trade for the life of Kenobi was one she was more than willing to make.  With a final smile of victory, she drew up the hood of her black cloak and strode quickly into the hallway. 

---

Danaé's Force-powered strides flew her down the corridor of the government building toward the bright yet pain-riddled presence of her older brother.  With each pound of a boot on the stone floors she sensed him getting closer and closer.  By the time she realized he was moving toward her too, she had reached him.  

She slammed to a halt, cradling Luke in her left arm as he slumped into her.  Quickly she scanned the hallway with her eyes and the Force and found nothing.  Deactivating and stashing her blade, she wrapped Luke in a fierce embrace.  "What happened?"   

He raised his head and looked forlornly into her eyes.  "Sith… fought…"  His voice was hoarse and anguished, and his breathing was hitched.  "Tried… but couldn't… said you… and… my hand."  

Only then did Danaé look down to his right arm – and couldn't stifle her shocked gasp.  Where his hand and wrist should have been was a cleanly cauterized stump, the kind of wound delivered only by a lightsaber.  "How did you get away?"

"Master Obi-Wan… made me… go."  

Danaé didn't like the sound of that, but she knew there was only one thing she could do now – get Luke to safety.  She wrapped an arm around his waist and began to lead him back down the hallway.  She walked as quickly as he could manage to keep up, which was remarkably fast given the waves of piercing pain streaming from him in the Force.  "We have to get out of here," she said as they reached an intersection.  "The hangar is this way."  

"Are you… sure?"  He looked at her in agony.  "I thought… it was… that way."  

Her heart skipped a beat when she realized she didn't know.  She had no idea which way the hangar was.  In her haste to find him she had lost track of her position in the building again.  That was not good.  Very not good.  "Yes, I'm sure," she lied.  "Come on, we have to hurry."  

They had made it only a few dozen strides down the corridor when Luke screamed in horror, then collapsed to his knees.  An instant later Danaé felt it too – the fleeting, shrill whistle of a life spirit leaving a physical form and becoming one with the Force.  As the energy surge sailed through her awareness, she perceived its tender, solemn, wistful farewell.  

Master Kenobi was gone.  

Danaé found herself unable to move.  It was almost too much to bear.  Just minutes ago she had slain her own former Master, and now Luke's Master was dead too.  It was surreal.  Incomprehensible.  Impossible.  

And yet it was true.  Danaé closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out into the living Force.  She let its energy wash over her body for a soothing moment before she opened her eyes again.  Knowing no words of sorrow or condolence could possibly have meaning to her brother right now, she chose the direct course instead.  "Luke, let's go," she said simply.  "We have to leave.  Now."  

He looked up at her, his blue eyes pouring waterfalls of tears down his cheeks.  Without a word he nodded and rose to his feet.  He let her wrap her arm around his waist again and followed her willingly down the hallway.  

They hadn't gone more than a few more steps when another tremor in the Force shook their perceptions – a disturbance unlike any they ever had felt before, even in the presence of the Sith.  Danaé clutched Luke tightly to prevent them both from stumbling, and then met his distressed gaze.  "Daddy's in trouble," she gasped at the very same instant he said, "Mara's in trouble."  

Danaé didn't have any time to think about why Luke was more attuned to Mara than Anakin.  All she knew was that the precarious emotions that had burst from her father were horrifying and the terror that had come from his apprentice was more excruciating than she had thought possible.  "We have to get to them," she said.  "We have to help them.  Come on!  Hurry!"  

At that very moment, even before they could begin their hobbling journey down the corridor again, a familiar series of bloops and whistles greeted them.  "Artoo!" exclaimed Danaé in amazement.  "Artoo!  Oh!  I can't believe it's you."  

The blue-and-white astromech trilled and beeped a rapid-fire message.  "A side hangar?  A gunship?  Yes, let's go.  Lead the way!  Hurry!"  As they rushed after the speedily rolling droid, Danaé looked down at Luke, who still was leaning on her for support.  "He's amazing," she marveled.  "I don't know what we'd do without him."

Luke grimaced in pain again.  "We'd be dead."

---

Mara stood rooted in place, her lightsaber hanging limply in her hands.  She held her Master's hollow, chilling gaze with a sense of mortal desperation building inside her.  This couldn't be happening.  It couldn't.  It was impossible.  

In her Force awareness she perceived the many squads of brownshirts charging toward them across the plaza while the two empty troop transports rose into the sky again.  The enemy soldiers had not yet begun to fire their blaster rifles, but with each passing second they drew closer.  Anakin seemed oblivious, his face displaying no recognition of the imminent attack from nearly a hundred armored troopers.  Perhaps he was just going to stand here and let them both be killed.  Fighting together they could prevail, but on her own Mara had no chance.  

She had no idea what to do.  The scorching savagery of her Master's rage continued to swirl around her in the Force as her desperation reached an intolerable crescendo.  She had to do something.  It couldn't end this way.  She had to get back to Luke.  She couldn't die.  Not here.  Not this way.  Her mental controls fell and her feelings were unleashed in flash of hideous torment in her mind.  

"You can't do this, Master!  You can't!"  She screamed at the top of her lungs, the fierceness of her words stinging the back of her throat.  "Let go of your anger!  No, Master!  No!"  __

Anakin said nothing, his eyes still blazing with white-hot determination.  

In that very moment another wave of emotions crashed over them in the Force.  This time it was not through the battle meld – Mara knew she was experiencing it herself too.  And the somber, regretful, mournful farewell made her knees tremble and her stomach sink in agony.  

Master Kenobi was gone.  

Before Mara could react to the horrible truth she felt her connection to her Master in the battle meld erupt with power beyond imagining.  She could hear the hard-earned Jedi controls on his emotions yield to the volcanic pressure of his pain and grief as his feelings became a supernova of vengeance. 

His scream of incandescent denial shook her ribs.  "Noooooooooooooooooo!"

And in her own mind Mara felt the heat of his rage purifying her fear and desperation into a burning wrath.  Never before had she felt such real, sincere, profound antagonism toward anyone, much less her beloved Master.  He couldn't be doing this.  He knew better.  He was stronger than this – better than this.  He couldn't be doing this.  He just couldn't.  And yet he was.  And he was going to pay.  He was going to pay dearly.  She would make him pay for doing this – for doing this to himself and to her.  

And then she realized what was happening.  Even if her Master would succumb to his own weakness, she didn't have to give in to the darkness too.  She would hold out.  She would be strong.  Somehow she would…

Yet before Mara could complete her attempt to regain control of her wild emotions she sensed that the squads of brownshirts were now only a few meters from firing range.  In a matter of heartbeats a barrage of blaster bolts would assault them at the speed of light, and she and Anakin were not prepared to defend it.  If she didn't act now, they would both be killed.  

But Anakin acted first.  

She watched him finally pull his eyes away from hers and cast his haunting stare upon the encroaching enemy soldiers.  His hands did not move and his feet remained in place.  But in the battle meld she felt the fire of his fury suddenly become utterly, gruesomely, appallingly cold.  His presence emanated the bone-chilling freeze of an arctic night, the life-draining emptiness of deep space.  And then she heard his thoughts in her own mind.  

_"Die!  Die!  All of you!  DIE!"_

In those words she learned the meaning of true hatred.  

Without needing her eyes she saw all the brownshirts collapse to the ground.  The Force roared with the deafening scream of a hundred-odd human lives snuffed out in an instant.  They were all dead.  Every single one of them.  And Anakin Skywalker had killed them – slain them as they ran forward – taken their lives with a simple solitary thought in his mind.  He had used the awesome power of the Force to annihilate his enemies.  

Mara couldn't bear to think about what he might be capable of doing next.  

The burning wrath in her spirit swept through her mind without barriers.  _How could you do this?_ she screamed in terror and anguish and rage.  _How could you?  How could you?_

In the very next instant she knew what she had to do – she had to stop him.  Mara knew beyond all doubt that there was only one action she could take.  She hadn't been trained to use the technique against a Jedi, but it was possible.  It was dangerous and risky and sometimes resulted in permanent harm; it had been performed only a handful of times in the last century on rampaging rogue Jedi, and then only in the most extreme circumstances.  If there were any other way she wouldn't even consider it.  But her Master was so powerful, his unlimited hatred so overwhelming, that she had no other means to make him stop.  She had no alternative.  No option.  No choice.  

Like the torrents of a flood-swollen river building up behind a failing dam, she collected the surging life energies of the Force into a massive, uncontainable well of energy in her mind.  Reaching through the battle meld to touch her Master's mind, she focused her concentration not on his presence in the Force but on the physical elements of his nervous system.  When she released her building reservoir of power directly into his mind, the onrushing strength of its flow simply would be too much for a human brain to manage and his body's natural self-preservation instincts would trigger an immediate state of catatonia to protect his mind from complete destruction.  Despite his incredible power in the Force, the chaotic state of his emotions left him vulnerable to this attack – he had lost control, and that meant his defenses against her mental assault were weakened too.  The amount of energy required to render a normal person unconscious was high.  The strength she would need to incapacitate her Master was almost incomprehensible – probably so much that her own mind would cease functioning to protect itself as well.  She just had to hope – to pray – that she could hold on long enough to take him out with her.  

Mara's eyes met Anakin's again.  _I will never forgive you for this,_ she vowed in depths of her soul.  _Never._

And then she let her mental dam break and sent the Force bursting through her feelings and into his mind with piercing, ripping, shearing pain beyond all possible comprehension.  The deep, inky blackness of unconsciousness swarmed her from all sides – and she sensed her Master's radiance in the Force collapsing inward on itself like the blindingly swift pull of a black hole.  In her final glimpse of awareness Mara felt the tiniest bit of satisfaction.  

She had stopped him. 

---

Danaé flew the gunship out of the wide hangar bay and swerved it into a hard turn to avoid the incoming blast of an infantry laser cannon firing at them from its position on the broad boulevard leading to the rear of the government building.  Behind her in the co-pilot's chair Luke moaned at the momentum of the turn.  "I'm sorry," Danaé said.  "These controls aren't responding well, not like an X-Wing's.  It's really hard to fly this thing." 

"It's okay," Luke groaned in pain.  "We don't have shields, by the way.  They're not functioning.  Do whatever you have to do to avoid us getting hit."  

"I will," Danaé vowed through clenched teeth.  She pulled the gunship through series of evasive maneuvers, only to find another laser cannon firing at them from a different angle.  From his position plugged into the computer socket, Artoo blooped and squealed anxiously.  

"You're doing great," Luke said reassuringly, though his voice was sharp and filled with anguish.  "Focus on defensive flying.  You're doing this exactly right, Danaé." 

After another series of dives and swerves brought the gunship clear of the two cannons, Danaé quickly glanced over her shoulder at her brother.  He was hunched forward in the seat, the stump of his severed right hand crushed in his left armpit and scowl of intense physical agony on his face.  "Can you sense them?" she asked.  "Where should we go?"  

Luke only shook his head.  "I can't sense them," he admitted in frustration.  "But it's probably me.  I have no concentration right now.  None at all."  

"I'm too distracted by flying," she replied forlornly.  Quickly she had to plunge the gunship into another dive to avoid a concussion missile launched by some unseen assailant below them in the streets around the building.  "I guess we'll just have to try to find them.  Look for them.  Where do you think they are?" 

"They were going to be defending the front of the building," Luke said after a pause.  "I suppose they could still be there.  Maybe they were overrun or something, and that's what we felt."  He took a shuddering, rasping deep breath.  "I'll find the cannon controls here in case there are brownshirts around.  All you have to do is get us there."

"I can handle that," Danaé said.  "I think."  

Without much difficulty Danaé swung the gunship into a steep climb up and over the high stone walls of the government building.  In a matter of seconds they had passed across its roof and emerged on the front side.  The enormous statues and tall trees prevented her from staying close to the building, though.  Instead she flew a short distance away from the structure, then reversed course and steered them into a straight approach to it again.  Once she did, they could see the broad stone plaza that expanded in all directions from the columned façade of the building.  

Luke gasped at the sight of several hundred of dead brownshirts.  Many had blaster or lightsaber scarring on their tan body armor – but dozens and dozens did not.  "What happened here?"

"I don't know," Danaé said gravely.  The impression of death in the Force hung over the plaza like an impenetrable fog.  Her weak, frantic efforts to probe for her father and Mara in the living Force met with only the muddied soup of the mass fatalities.  Meanwhile she struggled to control the unstable flight of the gunship. 

Suddenly Luke leaned forward and pointed out the viewport with his left hand.  "There!"  He waited for her to follow with her eyes.  "There!  Do you see?  It's them.  There on the ground."  

"Yes," she grimaced.  "I see them."  Mara's maroon-and-black Jedi robes stood out plainly from the other bodies collapsed all over the plaza, and next to her the cut of Anakin's tan Jedi robes was distinct from the brownshirt's slightly darker battle armor and underlying green fatigues.  A shocked, frightened, haunted gaze passed between sister and brother, saying all that words couldn't about the millions of desperate questions racing through their minds, questions they knew they didn't have time even to think about now, much less speak aloud. 

"Hurry!" cried Luke.  "There are more cannons moving up.  Coming from the west."  

Danaé spared a quick glance and saw that he was right.  She made a decision instantly.  "No time to land," she said.  "You're going to have to hold us in a hover."

"What?  How?  I only have one hand!"  

Danaé already had wrestled the gunship into a wobbling float on its repulsors.  She unstrapped her restraints and stood up.  "Artoo," she directed, "you're a pilot.  Help Luke as much as you can."  Then she put a hand on Luke's shoulder and squeezed it firmly.  "You can do this.  Just don't tip us over and I'll do the rest."  

Luke winced in pain as he pulled his right arm into his lap and leaned forward to grasp the gunship's control stick in his left hand.  He closed his eyes and dipped his head, preparing to concentrate in the Force as much as he could manage.  "Go," he whispered.  "But hurry.  Hurry!"  

Danaé raced to the back of the gunship and heaved open the massive armored door to the main hold.  About five meters below were the motionless bodies of her father and Mara, sprawled lifelessly on the blood-spattered stone of the plaza.  Danaé planted her feet apart, extended her right arm, and closed her eyes.  In the living Force she sensed them right away – still alive, thankfully, but dim and cold in her awareness, not vibrant and sparkling as usual.  But there was no time to ponder it – only to act.  Danaé surged her feelings into the Force and seized hold of the two limp bodies with all her strength.  She yanked them from the ground and pulled them to the gunship like rag dolls, ignoring the unpredictable, spasmodic dipping and rising of the floor beneath her feet.  In only a few seconds the bodies levitated to within the gunship.  Without time to be gentler, Danaé simply released her concentration and let them fall to the metal floor with painful-sounding thumps.  She slammed closed the gunship's door again and charged back to the cockpit.  

"We've got them," she said as she flung herself into the pilot's chair and took the control stick back from Luke.  With one hand she pulled the gunship into steep climb into the sky while she strapped in with the other.  

He reached over with his left hand to help her tighten the restraints.  "Are they alive?"

"Yes," she replied distractedly, concentrating on getting them toward the evacuation transports as quickly as possible.  "I can't tell what happened, but they're in the Force.  They're still with us."   

"Okay," Luke rasped.  

Danaé looked back to see tears streaming down her brother's face.  "Get on the comlink," she ordered.  "Send the distress signal.  Make sure they know we're coming, and who we have aboard.  That's worth any clearance code in the galaxy."

"Consider it done," Luke said, leaning over to the side console.  Behind him Artoo toodled and whistled mournfully.  

"Yes, Artoo, the battle's over," Danaé said.  "And I don't think anything will ever be the same."

---

When the thunderous applause for her vow never to surrender faded, Padmé took one last long, deep breath and raised her eyes to the enormous chamber around her.  There was little left to say, except her final pledge to the Senate and the Republic and her family.  

"My fellow Senators, my fellow citizens of the Republic.  I have spoken to you tonight from my heart.  The road ahead is a difficult one, and while we know with certainty that someday we will reach the end of our journey and revel in our success, we also know that the path we travel together is a dangerous and fateful one.  I cannot foretell what tragedies and horrors will confront us before we reach our destination.  All I can do is vow once again that my determination will be unwavering and my vision undaunted."

Padmé blinked hard to force away the tears she felt rising in her eyes.  "These are dark times for the Republic.  We are at war.  Our enemy comes from within our ranks and seeks to tear asunder the fabric of our unity.  Worse still, he has resurrected and allied with the greatest menace our galaxy has ever faced, the deepest and most despicable evil possible – the corruption of the glorious life energy of the Force for the sinister ambitions of the Sith.  There is no greater sacrilege than this.  Yet opposing this tide of darkness the Republic stands as an embankment against oppression, a bulwark against tyranny, and a fortress against evil.  We must have faith in our institutions, our military, our values, and ourselves.  Though we face a grim and painful future, we must have faith in the rightness of our cause and the justness of our principles.  Together we will shine the light of all that is honorable and worthy and good in this galaxy upon our enemies, and in the end we will drive out the darkness that confronts us."  

"I cannot promise war without death," she said solemnly.  "I cannot promise triumph without cost.  I cannot promise victory without sacrifice.  I can promise one thing and one thing only."  

Padmé blinked back her tears again and brought the speech to the only conclusion it rightfully could have.  

"No matter how great the darkness, I will always have hope."  


	15. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

When Padmé rose from the chair, the two military commanders across the desk stood and snapped to attention.  "Thank you for your candor, General Veers," she said.  "And I appreciate your honesty as well, Admiral Piett.  I will consider what you have said and give you a decision in the morning.  In the meantime, please implement immediately the plans I have already approved."

"Of course, Your Excellency," the general nodded.  Both men saluted, then bowed formally and strode quickly from the office.  

After they had departed, Padmé tapped the intercom on the desk.  "Nothing?"  

"I'm sorry, Padmé," said Jenny's voice somberly from the small speaker.  "I would have interrupted you."

"I know," Padmé said.  She hadn't doubted that for a second, but still she had felt compelled to ask anyway.  It had been over three standard hours since the military had confirmed that the Republic's task force at Gimna 3 had left the conquered system, and the processing of information on casualties and survivors was agonizingly slow.  And no one had contacted her – not Anakin or the twins or Danaé or Bryon – even though she had a dedicated communications line to the fleet held open for her private comlink code for just that purpose.  "This is all for today, Jenny," she sighed after a pause.  "I'm ready to return to the residence."  

"Of course," Jenny replied instantly.  "Sabé commed in a few minutes ago to let you know she'll be there.  Nalé offered to join her, but she declined.  She figured you'd want to be alone."  

"Yes," Padmé mumbled distractedly.  More times than she ever could hope to count she had been immensely grateful to have a friend like Sabé in moments like this – a shoulder to cry on, an ear to rant to, an embrace in which to find solace.  

"Master Secura is here with your security detail from the Jedi Council," Jenny said.  "Should I send her in?"  

"Yes, of course," Padmé agreed.  

A long moment later door swished open and the middle-aged, blue-skinned female Twi'lek paced inside.  "Supreme Chancellor Amidala," she said formally, "it is my pleasure to lead the team personally."

"I welcome your presence, Master Jedi," Padmé said simply, tipping her head in respect to the formality with which her long-time acquaintance had acknowledged the gravity of the circumstances.  

"I wish I could say I bring word of the conditions at Gimna 3," the Jedi Master said grimly, "but the disturbances in the Force at that location have become so great the Council has been unable to discern anything."  

Padmé nodded.  She knew as well as Master Secura did that her family would contact her first, even before they contacted the Order.  "I need to go home, Aayla," she sighed, inadvertently letting the weight of her fear and pain and desperate hope leak into her voice.  

"Of course, Padmé," the Jedi smiled as reassuringly as she could.  "It's late.  You've had a very long day, not to mention the heavy burden of the obligations you have now assumed."  She put a gentle hand on Padmé's shoulder.  "The team understands the situation, Padmé.  I'll introduce you to the unfamiliar faces in the morning.  For now, just let us take you home."

Overcome by exhaustion and anxiety, Padmé could only nod again.  She compelled her feet to move and followed the Twi'lek Master out into the reception area of the Supreme Chancellor's suite – the office she now occupied at the Senate – and when they arrived she couldn't suppress the shocked gasp that escaped her lips.  

Eleven Jedi stood patiently in two parallel lines, hands clasped behind their backs and lightsaber handles on their hips glistening in the bright lights.  

Padmé swallowed hard as Master Secura led her through the formation and the Jedi formed up a protective squad around her.  Was the situation now so serious that the Council felt it necessary to treble the Supreme Chancellor's detail?  Or was it because she was Anakin's wife?  Or both?  

The faces she recognized sent a chill down her spine: several powerful Masters with their highly skilled Padawans and an impressive complement of Knights, including to her recollection the four or five most dominant young fencers in the Order.  And standing like an obelisk at the end of the line on her right, Mace Windu, who was without question the deadliest fighter in the Temple – other than Anakin, of course.  Padmé's heart skipped a beat as she wondered whether this meant that Danaé would be one of her bodyguards once her daughter returned from Gimna 3.  

_If_ her daughter returned from Gimna 3.  

Mace met Padmé's eyes and smiled his best warm, calm, soothing smile.  She tried to smile back but couldn't.  Instead she looked away, blinked back her tears, and kept her gaze on the floor as they walked.  

---

Leia walked sluggishly through the sterile white hallway of the Republic Navy medical cruiser _Panacea_.  Her plain white cotton pantsuit brushed softly with each step; it itched her skin, but she tolerated it because she knew she was lucky to be allowed in the intensive-care wing at all.  Both her hands were sealed in fingerless gloves of stiff but thin plastisteel to prevent her from aggravating the numerous hairline fractures in tiny bones that she had inflicted on herself by pounding futilely on the metal walls of the evacuation transport.  The stupor induced by the massive amount of sedation and painkillers she had been given left her in a haze.  

Han was gone.  

Gone.  

It was the dominant thought in her muddled mind.  She could see it clearly in her mind's eyes – the ship lifting off with him still on the ground, surrounded by brownshirts.  Tears welled in her bloodshot eyes as she stumbled along.  

It was impossible.  It couldn't have happened.  It must be a dream.  A terrible, horrible dream.  

But it was real.  She couldn't remember all the details of the conversation, but she knew Chewbacca and Lando had been at her side from the moment of liftoff until just a few minutes ago.  Over and over they had reassured her that Han would be safe, that they would find his location quickly, that soon he would be rescued.  How they had ignored her anguished screams she could not comprehend.  But she believed them.  She trusted them.  She had to.  

With a few more dragging footsteps she entered a small white room.  In its center was a bacta tank.  Her little brother Bryon was suspended in the thick yellowish liquid, floating motionlessly.  The respirator hissed and popped methodically, breathing for him.  His legs and arms hung limply.  Small surgery droids clustered at his chest, whirring and whizzing inside the tank as they worked at the large, raw wounds torn in his flesh.  His skin was almost translucently pale, and his eyes were closed.  

He looked like a corpse.  

Dressed in white garb identical to hers, Danaé and Sarré sat crossed-legged on the floor in front of the tank.  Danaé's hands were clasped in her lap and her eyes were closed.  As she approached, Leia could see that Danaé's brow was furrowed and her skin was drenched in sweat.  Leia wasn't sure she ever had seen her sister concentrating so fiercely.  Danaé did not react to the sound of Leia's lethargic arrival, but Sarré did.  Her handmaiden stood up and met Leia a few paces behind Danaé.  

"How is he?" asked Leia quietly.  

"Really bad," Sarré winced, wiping her eyes.  "He hasn't regained consciousness and…  They're saying he has a ten percent chance.  If that."  

Leia pulled Sarré into a tight embrace.  "I'm so sorry.  I don't know what to say."

Sarré shook her head.  "You don't have to say anything."  

Leia squeezed her friend firmly.  "What's Danaé doing?"

"She's keeping him alive," Sarré whispered.  "The medics say he'd be dead by now for sure, if it weren't for her.  I don't know what she's doing with the Force, but it's keeping him alive.  There's a chance that if she can hold on long enough, the droids might be able to implant enough temporary cybernetics and do the surgeries to save him."  

"Is there anything I can do?  Can I summon more Jedi?"  

"No.  There's no time.  They said the next hour will be decisive."

Leia choked back a sob.  "Anything for Danaé, then?  Can we do anything to help her?"  

"I don't think so," Sarré rasped.  "I asked her a while ago, and she shook her head.  I guess all I can do is wait and hope it's enough."  

"I'll stay with you," Leia soothed.  "I'll stay."

"Thanks," Sarré smiled weakly.  

When Leia was jolted back to reality by the gentle whirring of small servomotors, she had no idea how long they had been sitting on the floor.  She still had her arm around Sarré's shoulders, and her friend still was staring vacantly at the macabre body in the bacta tank.  Leia turned her head around to see two familiar droids waiting respectfully in the open doorway.  She had to blink hard several times before she felt her mind was functional again.  "I'll be…"

"Go," Sarré whispered without looking at her.  

Leia rose and walked over to Threepio and Artoo, who blooped a somber greeting.  "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mistress Leia," Threepio said as quietly as he could, which wasn't really very quiet.  "But you asked to be notified when Mistress Mara awoke."  

"She's awake?"  

"Well, not exactly.  She has not opened her eyes, but the medical droid says her brain rhythms clearly indicate conscious awareness."  

"Artoo," came Sarré's voice from a few meters away, "what probability did you calculate from the data the medical droid gave you?"

Artoo whimpered and bleeped, and Threepio translated.  "Only eight point one seven percent, I'm afraid."

"I see," said Sarré flatly without turning around to face them. 

"Actually," Threepio said quickly, "Artoo has been known to make mistakes…  from time to time."

"Leia, go see Mara," Sarré insisted softly.  "She needs you more than I do right now."  

Leia wasn't sure she believed that, but she knew better than to try to argue.  "I'll be back as soon as I can.  I promise."    

"It's okay.  Go."  

Leia looked to Threepio.  "What room?"

Artoo blooped.  "One-twenty-one," reported Threepio.  

Between her foggy thoughts and her concern for Bryon and Sarré and Mara, she forgot to thank the droids the way she usually would.  Leia just ran.  

---

Mara felt the small, bandaged hands squeezing both of hers, and she sensed the familiar presence in the Force.  Leia was here.  With great effort Mara finally forced her eyes open.  She was lying on a bed in a small white room.  A medical ship, probably.  That was good.  

"Oh."  The gasp of relief and joy was clearly the only thing Leia could get her voice to speak.  

Mara swallowed hard.  "I'm… going… to… be fine," she managed to rasp.  

Leia reached over to the side and handed her a short, round container with a thin tube out the top.  "Drink."  

Mara did.  She felt the refreshing burst of cool water gush into her body.  Immediately her thoughts turned to how much she still did not know about how the battle had ended.  "We felt… in the Force," she started slowly.  "Bryon.  Is he?"  

"He's alive, at least for now," Leia shook her head.  Quickly she explained the situation in the bacta tank room, as well as what had happened to Han and why she had casts on her hands.  

"And Luke?  I felt…  pain like…  never before."  

"He fought the Sith Master," Leia said softly.  "She cut off his right hand."

"Oh, no," Mara gasped.  "No."  

"He's still in surgery," Leia explained.  "They're attaching a cybernetic."  

Mara wanted desperately to ask more about Luke, but other thoughts pressed ahead.  "Master Kenobi?  He's…"

"Yes," Leia nodded sadly.  "He's gone.  Danaé can't sense him in the Force any longer."  

"And… your father?"

"He's next door.  You both were catatonic when Danaé and Luke found you.  He hasn't regained consciousness.  But he doesn't appear to be injured."

Tentatively Mara reached out her perceptions into the Force.  It surged into her, restoring energy to her spirit and strengthening her body.  Yet she also felt a blazing fire of darkness sparkling in her mind.  The vengeful wrath she bore toward her Master was not gone.  Not at all.  She wanted to slam her awareness closed immediately, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.  First she had to stretch her feelings to the adjacent room.  When she did, she instantly detected her Master's presence in the Force, muted and cold.  He still seemed to be in the stasis she had blasted them into on Gimna 3.  Nothing worse than that, no permanent injury to his body, was apparent to her.  But the smoldering anger in her spirit only was growing stronger by the second, so before she could impulsively do anything she might regret she pulled back her perceptions and locked down her connection to the Force – and squelched her rising fury in its incipient stages.  

"Not… physically," Mara whispered.  

Leia looked very anxious.  "What happened?"

"Has anyone… talked… to Padmé?"

"No," Leia said.  "Danaé and I wanted to wait until we knew more about his condition." 

"No time," Mara insisted.  Every muscle in her body ached as she sat up in the bed, but she did not dare draw on the Force again.  Not yet.  Not until she had time to figure out what exactly had happened to her – what her Master had done to her.  "We must… contact Padmé.  Now."  

"Mara!  What happened?"

"No.  Only… with Padmé."  

Leia scowled, but she helped Mara to her feet.  "Go slowly.  Be careful." 

Mara took a series of deep breaths as she swayed in the air.  She drank the rest of the water Leia had provided, then with her arm around her friend's shoulders she began to hobble from the room.  

When they passed the small mirror on the far wall, though, Mara stopped in her tracks and looked at herself.  Her skin was sickly pale.  Her eyes were swollen and surrounded by huge, deep blue bruises.  Her red-gold hair stuck out wildly around her head.  And in her green eyes she could see the twinkle of the dark fire she had tried to suppress.  She looked terrible, but she had to go on.  For Padmé.  

It took them a while, but eventually they arrived at a small communications room at the end of the corridor.  Leia snapped her data chip credentials into the viewscreen device and waited.  Beneath the table Mara reached over and took Leia's hands in her own.  They would need each other's strength to do this.  

"Yes, Senator Organa," came the calm female voice of a Navy communications officer.  The screen remained a soothing light-blue color.  "What I can do for you?"  

"I need a transmission to Coruscant.  Top priority, maximum security.  To the attention of access code Bantha-Gundark-Nexu on my card."  

"Of course, Senator.  Right away."  

The wait was interminable, although probably it really was only a matter of a few more minutes.  Finally Padmé's face appeared on the viewscreen.  From the look in her eyes it was apparent she was very shaken that it was not Anakin who was contacting her.  "Leia?"  

"It's me, Mom," Leia said as calmly as she could, squeezing Mara's hands as if seeking reassurance.  "And Mara's here too."

Padmé gazed at Leia first.  When she turned to Mara, she gasped audibly and her face paled even more.  "It's been hours and hours!  I haven't heard anything!  Nothing at all," she said with a frantic, wobbling voice.  "What happened to you?  What's going on?"  

"Are you sitting down, Padmé?" rasped Mara.  

"And you're not alone, are you?" asked Leia urgently.

Padmé was crying now.  "We're at the residence.  Sabé is here with me."  Padmé wiped her eyes.  "Tell me.  Now.  Whatever it is.  Tell me."

"Obi-Wan is dead, Padmé," Mara whispered.  

"Oh, no.  No."  Padmé tears flowed harder.  But immediately she stared at them despondently over the viewscreen.  "There's more.  I know it.  I can see it on your faces.  Tell me."

"Danaé, Sarré, and I are fine," Leia said slowly.  "Luke is injured but he'll recover.  Mom…  Several shots got through Bryon's armor.  He's in a bacta tank now and… Danaé's healing him too, but…  Mom… it's really, really bad and… Mom… he probably won't make it."  

"No!  No!"  Padmé's face hardened into a mask of denial.  "No.  No."  She looked away and said something inaudible, probably to Sabé.  "Wait.  Danaé's…  Why isn't…  Where's Anakin?  What happened to Anakin?"  

Mara took a deep breath and squeezed Leia's hands to steel herself for what she was going to have to explain to both of them.  "Padmé," she said hoarsely, "we need to talk."  

---****

Mara found herself walking aimlessly in the sterile white corridors of the _Panacea_'s intensive-care unit.  The medical droids still were refusing her requests to see Luke, even though he had been out of surgery for over an hour.  Leia and Sarré were continuing their vigil in the bacta tank room while Danaé struggled to use the Force to sustain Bryon's tenuous hold on life; in her own precarious emotional state Mara could not risk trying to assist.  And Padmé – who in their absence had managed to get herself elected Supreme Chancellor of the Republic – had been completely numb with shock and denial by the time their transmission finally had ended.  

So Mara walked.  

The repetitive motion of her feet gradually smoothed her shattered emotions, and slowly and carefully she allowed herself to reach out into the Force again.  For reassurance she gripped tightly the handle of her lightsaber, which hung from the makeshift cloth belt around the waist of her white pantsuit; the medical droids had tried to keep it from her, but the prospect of being swiftly dismembered by the shimmering energy blade had convinced them otherwise.  Very tentatively at first, then with progressively more confidence, she let cool waves of life energy pour over her body like the gentle waterfall of a forest brook on Naboo.  At last she was able to ease her sore muscles, steady her frantic thoughts, and find a bit of solace in the midst of all her anguish.  

Without realizing it she found herself at the door to her Master's room in the infirmary – and immediately sensed his presence in the Force.  He was awake.  He was drawing on the Force too.  He was not shielding or locked down.  He was as strong and bright a beacon in the ether as ever.  

But the sparkling joy that usually filled his presence was absent.  Instead he registered as a somber, heavy, hollow, depressed spirit.  Never before had she perceived anyone's Force signature so despairing.  And she was glad.  

He deserved it.  

Mara waved open the door and strode inside.  Her Master was sitting upright on his bed with his feet dangling over the edge and his back against the wall.  His arms were crossed over the front of the white pantsuit and his weapons were nowhere to be seen.  As she walked through the portal he lifted his eyes to look at her.  

"I'm sorry, Mara," he said.  "I failed you."  

_You sure did_, she thought to herself.  _You've betrayed me, Master.  I will never forgive you for this.  And I will never forgive you for betraying Padmé's faith in you._  She said nothing aloud, but only stared pitilessly into his eyes.  The soothing, refreshing flow of the Force vaporized as a blazing inferno erupted in her gut.  

"Please, Mara," he said.  "I'm sorry."  

Her hand rested on her weapon again.  Glaring into the eyes of her traitorous Master, she wanted nothing more than to snatch it from her hip, ignite its shimmering blade, and impale him through the heart – to destroy his soul as he had done to her.  Her fingers clenched fiercely around the handle as perspiration beaded on her forehead.  

Her Master let his hands fall into his lap.  His eyes did not leave hers, but it was clear he would not defend himself.  

She wanted to strike him down.  The desire was nearly overpowering.  He was a monster – a hateful, despicable, horrible, vile monster.  But killing him would be a fate too kind.  He deserved an eternity of suffering for what he had done, for the pain he had brought to her, and to Leia, and to Padmé, and to all the others – to say nothing of the fact that his inability, and hers, to assist Danaé in the crucial early hours might yet cost Bryon his life.  Mara wished she knew how to inflict infinite, everlasting pain, because only that would be adequate retribution for his crimes.  

"I failed, Mara," he said again.  "I'm sorry.  Please, help me.  I need your help."  

She blinked twice just to be sure she wasn't imagining this.  _How dare you?  How dare you say such things to me?  You are not even worthy of my presence, much less serving as my Master – and you will never again be worthy of my help._  In a burst of sudden decisiveness Mara released her grip on her blade and reached her hand up to the side of her face.  With the heat of her wrath burning her determination into a perfect frenzy, she watched with immense pleasure as her Master's face fell when her fingers closed around the thin braid of hair looping behind her right ear.  

With a violent yank Mara tore out her Padawan braid by its roots.  

She held the limp strand in her fist for a long moment, then flung it angrily to him.  He stared at her in disbelief, tears welling in his eyes and his mouth agape.  The soft tickle of a single drop of blood slid down her cheek from the site of her self-inflicted wound.  Without a word she spun on her heel and took a long stride toward the door.  

"Mara, wait…"

She spun around again only long enough to spit in his face before she stalked out the door.  

---

Luke lay on his back in a recovery room on the medical cruiser, pondering the uncannily smooth white surface of the ceiling.  His nerves told him he had a right hand again, that spears of rib-rattling pain were shooting up his arm but were dulled into oblivion by countless injections of painkillers.  He refused to look at the cybernetic hand any more, though.  The synthflesh looked real enough and the digits responded as instantaneously to his mind's commands as his left hand did.  But it wasn't his hand.  It wasn't real.  It was fake.  

He thought it an appropriate emblem of his behavior as a Jedi.  

Suddenly the dull murmur of chatter beyond the closed door of his room increased dramatically in volume and disturbed Luke's contemplations.  The medical droid's smooth, gentle voice was barking indiscernible denials, only to be answered by outbursts from an angry, shouting woman.  That seemed odd, considering that Leia had been here only recently and the droid had allowed her to see him.  Why would the droid be refusing her entry now?  While the horrible news she had delivered certainly had upset him, he couldn't imagine how it could interfere with his recovery in any meaningful way.  

Then he heard the distinctive snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting, followed by a frightened electronic squeal only a droid could make.  The next moment the door swished open and Mara strode through, her arm extended behind her to point her shimmering violet blade at a figure in the room beyond – no doubt the panicked medical droid.  When she had stepped all the way inside she lowered the weapon and waited for the door to swish closed again – and then promptly plunged the energy blade through the control panel of the door, sending a shower of sparks and a cloud of smoke into the air.  

"That's one way to get some privacy," Luke chuckled.  

Mara spun around on her heel to face him, deactivating her weapon and clipping it to her cloth belt in a single smooth motion.  The grim scowl on her face brightened a bit.  "Here's another," she smirked.  

Luke saw a flickering fire in her eyes as her palm snapped outward and an invisible strike of power in the Force blasted the observation cam from its perch on the ceiling in the corner of the room and shattered it to pieces against the wall.  Only when he perceived that wave of energy bursting into the Force did Luke realize something else – something truly and utterly terrifying.  

"Why are you shielding?" he asked softly as she paced over to his bedside.  He noticed a small red streak down the front of her white shirt – the track of a single drop of blood.  

She raised her eyebrows.  "I'm not shielding."  

"Then why can't I sense you?" 

"What?"

He reached out his left hand – his right was strapped down to the bed to ensure it did not move while his arm adjusted to the cybernetic attachment – and rested his palm very tenderly on her cheek.  "You're standing here in front of me," he said as he traced his fingertips over the thin, damp trail of crimson running from her hairline to her jaw, "your Padawan braid is gone, and I can't sense you in the Force."  

"I… I… I guess I'm…"  She reached up both hands to clasp his and pressed it to the bare skin on the side of her neck.  He could feel her heart pounding and the quick rise and fall of her chest as she breathed heavily.  Without letting go she closed her eyes and took a series of slow, deep breaths.  

All of a sudden her presence blazed into the Force again with the blinding glory of a sun emerging from a solar eclipse.  Luke smiled and pushed his fingers gently against her skin.  When she opened her eyes, a single tear traced down each cheek.  She released her hold and let him wipe them away.  "I did it too," he said simply.  

She looked at him in dismay. 

"I let my anger take over," he nodded.  "I lost control.  I touched the dark side too."  

Her left hand clasped his tightly while her right brushed long strands of sandy-brown hair off his forehead, and her green eyes held his gaze forlornly.  "When?" 

He could see in her eyes that she knew everything he had told Leia.  "Fighting the Sith Master," he whispered.  "She told me that Oga Trill was turning Danaé to the dark side.  She taunted me with it; mocked me; exploited me."  He took a slow, deep breath of his own.  "She knew it would work, and she was right."  

"It was true," Mara said quietly.  "Master Trill was a Sith, and he did try to turn Danaé."  

"I know," Luke nodded.  "But that's all the more reason I should have been in control.  If I had won, or at least gotten away, then I could have gone to help Danaé.  Instead I… I…  I almost got myself killed… and… I…"

"Luke, no," she whispered.  "Shh."

"No, Mara," he said through the pain building in his voice.  "Master Obi-Wan is dead because I failed."  

"That's not true, Luke," she insisted, squeezing his hand for emphasis and resting her palm on his cheek.  

"Yes, it is," he said.  "Yes, it is."  

"Well, then it's my fault Ralli and Gars are dead," she rejoined.  "It's my fault we tried the rescue.  You were right.  We should have followed the orders.  They might have died anyway, but their blood wouldn't be on our hands."  

"But you're only partly to blame for that," Luke said as he felt his eyes welling up with tears.  "I should have stood my ground.  I should have refused to go with you.  You wouldn't have gone in alone."

"I might have."

"No.  I don't believe that.  Not for a second."

"You didn't kill Obi-Wan, Luke," she persisted.  "The Sith Master did.  You can't blame yourself for this."

"But it _is_ my fault," he said forcefully as he began to cry, "and my fault alone.  If I'd stayed in control, I'd have been able to get away.  Or we at least could have fought her together.  I failed.  I failed, Mara.  I let her trick me into losing control – into using the dark side.  And it's only because I failed that Master Obi-Wan had to fight her by himself.  I got him killed, Mara.  I did.  It's all my fault."  

She stood there, her left hand clutching his over her heart, her right wiping the tears off his face.  She didn't say anything, but only gazed sadly into his eyes.  After a long moment she released her hands, unclipped her lightsaber handle from the makeshift belt of her white pantsuit, and set the weapon on the small table next to the bed.  Then she lifted the covers and began to crawl in with him.  

"Be careful," he whispered.  "My arm is still…"

She silenced him with a deep, passionate kiss.  "I'll be careful," she promised tenderly when she finally let him breathe again.  

He gulped air as she draped herself over him like a warm, familiar, comforting blanket.  She feathered light kisses against his neck.  "Mara… I don't know… We haven't talked about Tatooine… and I…"  His breath was hitching in his throat and he was stammering uncontrollably.  "I just… I'm not sure I'm ready to… and you and me… and I…"  

She kissed him firmly on the lips again.  "We both need this right now," she said in a husky, zealous voice that left no room for debate.  "I don't care about anything else, Luke.  I don't care what happens if we get caught.  I don't care what the consequences are.  I don't even care if this is a mistake.  Right now I really just don't care."  

In the overwhelming agony in her green eyes he saw a perfect reflection of his own emotions – grief, fear, anger, self-loathing, and most of all an aching, terrible, hollow despair.  He reached up his left hand, weaved his fingers through the long red-gold hair on the back of her head, and crushed her mouth to his.  

He didn't care either.  

---

Danaé entered the intensive-care ward's small mess hall and immediately picked out her father and sister sitting across from each other at a small table on the far side of the room.  Gracefully Danaé weaved her way through the other tables and past the chattering conversations of off-duty medical technicians and surgeons.  

Arriving at the table, Danaé tried to motion Leia to stay seated, but her sister already had noticed her and had risen to her feet.  Leia hugged Anakin around the shoulders and buried her face in his neck.  After a long moment she released him and turned around.  Danaé preempted her sister's question with a somber shrug and a weak smile.  Leia took Danaé's hand and squeezed it firmly in a gesture of thanks, then walked quickly toward the exit.  Danaé knew Leia didn't want to be away from Sarré's side any longer than absolutely necessary. 

Danaé slid into the empty chair and met her father's terrified gaze.  "I'm not here to tell you he's dead." 

Anakin's shoulders slumped in relief and his face brightened just a little.  He didn't say anything.  

"The surgery droids finished an hour ago.  He's been stable since then."  She reached over and took her father's left hand; his right was in his lap under the table.  "With the cybernetics and the surgeries his body is functioning enough to keep him alive in the bacta tank without my help, so they sent me away."  

Her father could read the nervousness in her voice.  "But he's still in grave condition."

"Yes," Danaé nodded.  "He still might die.  The medical droids said it will take six more hours to know if his body will reject the internal cybernetic implants.  If he makes it that long, then he'll have survived the most dangerous period and he'll almost certainly live.  If he can't… well… it's not like we could use the Force forever… so..."  

He nodded in understanding.  "He hasn't regained consciousness?"

"No."

Her father inhaled deeply and blew out a mournful sigh.  Then he pulled back his hand to run his fingers through his short gray hair.  "So why _are_ you here?"  

She looked at him quizzically.  "To see you."  

He frowned.  "I'm surprised you'd want anything to do with me right now.  Leia only came by to tell me what happened with everyone because she knew no one else had, and to let me know that she and Mara had contacted your mother a few hours ago.  She couldn't even look me in the eyes.  Not once the whole time." 

"Where is Mara, by the way?" 

"I don't know," he said.  He brought his right hand up from beneath the table and unclenched his fist.  Lying limply across his palm was a thin, severed Padawan braid of red-gold hair.  

Danaé choked down a sob and took both his hands in hers.  "I'm so sorry, Daddy," she whispered.  "I'm sure she just needs time.  I'm sure she'll forgive you."

"No," her father said.  "No, she won't." 

Danaé wanted to say something to convince him otherwise but couldn't find the words.  After a long, heavy, achingly silent moment between them, she met his gaze.  "What happened, Daddy?  Tell me what happened." 

Anakin talked for a long time, beginning with the nightmare vision from the Force on Coruscant and the frustrating search at the Cathedral of the Liberation in Theed.  He described the sudden encounter with the Sith Master, the shocking revelation of her true identity, the vigorous duel between them, and her horrible words that had called into question everything he believed – everything he thought he knew – about the events leading to the defeat of Sidious.  And then she had escaped without leaving any clues about whether Naboo might be attacked next.  Before he had found any opportunity to meditate on the stunning developments, he had been called to Gimna 3 for the evacuation operation.  And during the battle, when he had realized that the Sith were targeting his children for destruction – or worse – and he had felt their pain so piercingly through the Force, he had lost control.  For the first time in over two decades he had given in to vengeance and hopelessness, and he had killed with the dark side of the Force.  

Danaé reached up and wiped the wetness from his tear-stained cheeks with her fingers.  "You'll get past this," she said tenderly, "just as you did the last time.  I know you will.  I promise."  

Her father smiled weakly and chuckled a little.  "Is that confidence I hear?"  His trademark mischievous grin was back – just barely.  "Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"  

Danaé laughed and took his hands again.  She told him the truth about the sensation of Master Trill she had felt during the battle at Corellia, and then about her training on Dagobah with Yoda and her near-failure in the dark side tree-cave.  Next she recounted her former Master's deception in the Gonnolli government building and her haunting discovery that Oga had fallen to the dark side and joined the Sith.  She blinked back her tears and explained that it had been Anakin's personally developed lightsaber technique that had saved her life.  

"I always knew this day would come," her father chuckled quietly when she finished.  "I always knew that someday I would be the one admiring you, and not the other way around."  

"Stop this, Daddy," she responded sharply yet gently.  "You are a great man and a great Jedi.  No one is perfect.  No one is infallible."  She took a deep breath and smiled.  "That is what I learned from Yoda, don't you see?  Failure is inevitable.  If we demand perfection from ourselves, it can only bring disappointment.  If you allow it to, failure will consume you – it will lead to despair.  Everyone fails sometimes.  The only thing you can do is learn from your failures and be stronger because of them." 

Her father shook his head and his lips curled into a bemused smile.  "When did you get so wise?"

She laughed.  "The same time I finally found my Skywalker confidence, I guess."  

"Quite the combination," he chuckled.  "Confidence and wisdom in a Skywalker.  I'm not sure the Order is ready for this." 

Danaé winked and squeezed her father's hands again to signal her delight at his lighter mood.  "Well, I guess they'll just have to get used to it, won't they?" 

"Yes," he grinned.  "Yes, they will."  

"Daddy?" 

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Did you think…"  She paused, meeting his gaze.  "Did you think Mom was really going to do it?"

He nodded.  "After Millius was assassinated, yes.  We never had a chance to discuss it, but I knew.  She'd invoke the Regal Prerogative and run.  I never doubted it.  I just knew."

"We should go to the communications station and contact her.  I'm sure she's waiting to hear from you."  

Her father shook his head, his gaze fell to the tabletop, and his smile vanished.  "No," he said.  "Leia and Mara told her what happened.  She knows I'm here.  She knows I'm on the _Panacea_.  If she wanted to talk to me, she'd have contacted the ship." 

"Maybe she assumes you're still unconscious," Danaé suggested softly.  

"I appreciate the thought, sweetheart, but I know your mother.  That wouldn't stop her.  She'd check in every five minutes until she got the result she wanted, if that's what it took."

Danaé nodded sadly.  "But she hasn't."

"No," Anakin said.  When his eyes met hers again, the anguish in the blue orbs was palpable.  "Some things can only be discussed in person."

---****

Darth Vengous ran her hands with practiced expertise over the controls on the cockpit console of the _Ebony Fang_, her deadly, heavily customized yacht.  The starship had sublight and hyperdrives faster than nearly any in the galaxy and impenetrable dark side cloaking technology constructed from instructions in the Sith holocron.  Bristling with concealed weapons, the vessel could destroy with ease even a sizeable squadron of opponents – and if outnumbered could outrun its pursuers in an instant.  As much as she enjoyed the thrill of annihilating those who opposed her, that pleasure would have to wait for another time.  

The Sith Master confirmed the settings for the hyperspace jump to Vyhrrag, then without shifting her eyes reached over with her left hand and pulled the lever.  She watched out the sweeping viewport as the stars extended into brilliant streaks of light, leaving the newly conquered planet of Gimna 3 behind.  The trap she had laid for the Skywalkers had exceeded the expectations of even her diabolical foresight.  

As she had avowed to him on Naboo, the Chosen One had succumbed to the temptation of the dark side and had used its power to kill – and in the presence of his apprentice no less.  His elder son had been weakened as well, attacking her in a blind rage that had cost him his soul and nearly his life, spared only by Kenobi's fruitless sacrifice.  The effects of the Chosen One's actions would reverberate for the three Jedi for months to come.  And his younger son was mortally wounded, and probably already dead.  

In the chaos of the fall of Gonnolli, Lord Barbarus had been unable to assassinate the Senator from Naboo as well, but Vengous was not concerned.  Already she had foreseen another opportunity, and she knew Barbarus would not fail her.  More troubling, however, was the willpower of the Chosen One's younger daughter.  Somehow the girl had withstood Lord Malus' mind compulsion enhanced with the dark side of the Force – and then had managed to kill him.  How she had achieved that the Sith Master had no idea, but Malus always had been something of an unstable apprentice and Vengous' future plans did not necessitate his survival in any event.  Her three remaining apprentices were more than sufficient to wipe the Skywalker bloodline from the galaxy and then topple the Jedi Order and the Republic along with it.  

For a moment she wondered whether the Chosen One would be able to distinguish the truth from the lies she had told him on Naboo.  She doubted he would be fooled by her false assertion that she had manipulated his friend Ellina to flirt with the power of the dark side.  That might lead him in turn to deny the truth that Vengous had been allied with Sidious for nearly four years before his death, and indeed had trained with him after faking her death at Geonosis.  She also suspected the Chosen One ultimately would not accept the lie that Sidious had let himself be killed – and she had no intention of letting him discover how close she had come to being captured on Coruscant with one Sith holocron, or that she had arrived only hours too late to prevent the Jedi from recovering the other.  

Vengous sensed her trusted deputy approaching the cockpit.  "You did well, Lady Delicti," she smiled as she spun her chair around.  

"Thank you, Master," the young brunette said as she slid into the navigator's seat.  "I am disappointed Lord Barbarus and I were unable to kill the Senator."  

"It is no matter," Vengous chuckled, waving her hand dismissively.  "You will have your chance soon enough."  

Delicti nodded.  "I expect Lord Regelous will be displeased that four of the Skywalkers still live."  

"Lord Regelous must learn patience," the Sith Master growled.  "Excessive ambition will be as destructive to our success as overconfidence or compassion.  It was never my intent to prevail completely in this single mission, and it would serve him well to accept it.  Killing the Army boy and restoring the darkness in the Chosen One were the only necessary objectives, and we inflicted far more harm than that upon his family.  That we were unable to kill the Jedi boy and take the Jedi daughter is irrelevant.  The damage has been done, and they will not recover from it."  

"Yes, Master," Delicti said.  "When do you plan to implement the next stage of your design?"

"In time, my friend," Vengous smiled broadly.  "All in due time."

---

When she heard the approaching footsteps in the hallway Sarré took a deep breath and removed her hand from the smooth, curved transparisteel exterior of the bacta tank.  She turned around and smiled weakly to Leia and Danaé, who already had joined her for the medical droid's imminent report on Bryon's condition.  The sisters smiled too, trying their best to keep her spirits up.  

The footsteps grew louder until Luke and Mara strode through the open doorway hand-in-hand.  Sweat glistened on their skin, their hair was disheveled, and their white medical-ward pantsuits were rumpled.  

Sarré glanced back at her companions.  Danaé was looking over her shoulder at one of the tank's monitors, unsuccessful at suppressing the growing flush on her face.  As she met Sarré's eyes Leia raised her eyebrows and tilted her head almost imperceptibly, a facial shrug Sarré knew well.

Luke apparently sensed their unease, because he released Mara's hand, strode directly to his twin, and flexed the fingers of his cybernetic right hand in front of her eyes.  "How are the hands?" 

"Very funny," Leia groaned, brandishing her bandaged palms in his face.  "I wonder what effect plastisteel has on a human nose?" 

"Okay, okay, okay," Luke laughed, backing away defensively.  "Calm down."  

A chuckling Danaé interposed herself between the squabbling twins, using her distinct advantage in height to separate them.  Then Sarré suddenly realized Mara was at her elbow.  "Hey."

"Hey," Mara said.  "No word yet, I take it?"

"No," Sarré shook her head.  "Any minute now."  

As if on cue the medical droid wheeled into the room and approached the five.  "I have analyzed the data collected by the monitors over the last six hours, the period in which the patient has been treated without Jedi assistance," the droid said in its soothing monotone.  "Throughout this period, the patient has remained stable.  In fact, the patient appears even to have regained a small amount of strength."

Sarré barely managed to suppress her flinch at the droid referring to Bryon so impersonally – and she did so at the cost of controlling her impatience.  "What is your conclusion, Two-One-Bee?" 

The droid rotated its expressionless metal visage to face her, but if it was bothered by her gruffness it showed no reaction.  "The patient has endured through the window of gravest risk.  I conclude the patient will survive." 

Sarré did not even perceive it as her legs gave way and she collapsed to the floor.  Immediately Leia and Mara knelt beside her and wrapped their arms around her shoulders.  "Will… will…"  Her voice simply didn't work.  "Will…"  

As if she had plucked the thought from Sarré's mind, Danaé addressed the droid.  "Will he make a full recovery?" 

The droid bobbed its head.  "I estimate the patient will regain consciousness in about two days time and require nearly constant bacta tank treatment for at least two additional days.  After a period of several weeks at least three rounds of surgeries will be required to remove the cybernetic implants and replace them with cloned organics.  Considerable rehabilitation will be necessary, of course, but given the patient's remarkable physical condition prior to the injuries I believe a full recovery is quite likely."  

Sarré couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks.  "Thank you," she managed to rasp.  

"No thanks are necessary," the droid replied in its eerily calm voice as it wheeled out the door.  "Performing my functions successfully is sufficient."  

Sarré let Leia and Mara help her to her feet and the five of them cried uncontrollably for several minutes.  Luke broke the collective embrace first and walked over to the comlink panel near the door.  He rejoined the group a short time later.  "Eight more hours to Coruscant," he said.  

"I'll go contact Mom," Danaé declared.  "She needs some good news right now."

"I'll come too," Luke said.  "It'll be a nice surprise." 

After they left, Sarré fell into an embrace with Leia and Mara again.  "I can't believe it," she sobbed as tears of joy ran down her face once more.  "I just can't believe it."

---

Padmé paced back and forth at the wide window of their bedroom.  Anakin was seated on the end of their bed, his hands in his lap and his head bowed.  They had been talking for so many hours she had lost track of time.  All she knew was that the sun had been high in the afternoon sky when they had begun, and now she saw only the murky blackness of night.

When the _Panacea_ had arrived at Coruscant, Padmé had met the medical cruiser at the Navy yard.  With Luke, Leia, Danaé, and Sarré at her side she had supervised Bryon's transfer to the Senate's hospital facility, where he would receive the highest possible quality of treatment.  Her son still had not regained consciousness, but he was alive and that was all that mattered.  They had stayed for hours in the bacta tank room, and she and Danaé had done their best to console the others.  After a while Mara had joined them too.  Eventually Sabé had come to take Sarré home, and the four youngsters had retired to their rooms at the residence, overcome by total exhaustion.  

Padmé had returned to the residence to find Anakin in this exact pose.  She had not expected to see him before then, and somehow she simply had known this was what he would do – he would stay invisible and wait for her to either reach him on the comlink or come home.  

"Say something," Anakin said, breaking into her contemplations.  "Anything.  Please." 

Padmé realized she hadn't spoken in quite some time.  But what could she possibly say?  There were no words for the outrage and anguish boiling inside her.  Then it occurred to her that everything she had said to him so far, everything she had asked, had been simple and straightforward comments and queries about what had taken place on Gimna 3 and what had happened to him – not a single word about _her_ emotions.  Those thoughts she had kept bottled up inside, afraid to reveal aloud the full extent of the betrayal she felt.  He probably had surmised it accurately enough from the fact that she had made no effort to contact him after Leia and Mara had made the dreadful transmission to her from the _Panacea_, but there was no reason to hold back.  He deserved the truth – so she gave it to him.  "You betrayed your vow to me, Anakin." 

"I know," he nodded.  

"You promised," she said, her voice getting louder of its own accord.  "You promised me that you would never use the dark side again.  You promised me that the strength of our love was enough to keep you on light side."

He stared silently at the floor.  

"I trusted you and you betrayed me!"  She heard herself shouting, and she didn't care.  After the initial shock of Mara's revelation had worn off, she had tried to ignore the truth by focusing on the business of her new office.  But that hadn't worked, not for more than a few hours, before immensity of his betrayal had struck home with the horrible sting of a fire wasp.  She hadn't thought pain of this magnitude was possible.  "How could you do this, Anakin?  How could you do this?"  

"I lost control," he said, his voice an almost inaudible whisper.  "Our children needed me and…"

"Our children?"  She stopped her pacing as she screamed to interrupt him.  For him to bring them into this only made her fury all the more volcanic.  It had been the thought that her children would need her, that they would depend on her to heal from their father's treason, that had been the only thing that had kept her sane.  "Our children?  Our children needed you to be the Jedi Master you're supposed to be, Anakin!" 

"I know that," he conceded.  "And I failed."

"You failed all of us," she growled as she began pacing again.  She hadn't believed this moment could ever happen.  He couldn't fail again.  He couldn't.  He'd promised her.  But he had, and that terrifying reality had destroyed everything she thought was true and good and honest in her life.  The foundation of her existence was gone.  

"I can't excuse what I did, Padmé," he said.  "I learned that lesson long ago.  I can't be all-powerful, no matter how much I wish I could be."

She glared at him.  "And I suppose you just forgot?" 

"I wasn't thinking clearly.  You know I wasn't.  Bryon was dying and I wasn't there to help him."

"And guess what?  You hated all those brownshirts to death and you still weren't there for him."  

"I know," he said.  "I wasn't rational."

"Well, that's just great," she laughed helplessly.  His remorse was sincere; she couldn't deny that.  But his guilt and penitence couldn't undo his malicious act or the perfidy it signified.  She didn't know how she could ever get past this.  "And what happens the next time you're not rational?  Are you going to wipe out the entire Senate because they're giving me trouble?  Are you going to kill Mara if she fails the Trials?"  

"I'd never do those things and you know it!" 

"Do I?"  She pounded a fist on the transparisteel window.  The sharp stab of pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder, but she didn't care.  She wanted to punch him – to kick him – to throttle him with her bare hands.  Instead she clutched her aching hand and paced some more.  "Do I?  Do I, Anakin?  I thought you'd never kill from anger again either, and I was wrong about that."  

"You're right," he nodded.  "I'm sorry."  

Padmé spun on her heel and headed back in the other direction along the window.  This was all so surreal.  Incomprehensible.  Impossible.  There was no way she could possibly deal with this.  Ever.  "Why couldn't you just commit adultery like a normal husband?"

"You don't mean that."

"Actually, I do," she hissed.  "That I could forgive.  Not easily, mind you, but I could.  This… this… this is so much worse than that."  

"I'm sorry," he said again.  "I failed."  

"You don't get it, do you?"  She stopped and spun to face him, glaring coldly into his eyes.  For some reason she still was holding something back, and she couldn't contain her burning ire any longer.  She let the words fly from her mouth in a detonation of self-loathing.  "You've made me feel like a failure.  My love was supposed to keep you calm.  My love was supposed to keep you at peace.  And it wasn't good enough.  My love wasn't good enough for you.  I wasn't good enough.  Don't you get it?  I failed you."

"That's ridiculous!"  He sprang to his feet and took a step toward her, only to back away when she pointed a finger squarely at his chest.  "I'm the one who failed.  You didn't.  You could never fail me, angel.  Never.  You could never fail me.  I'm the one who failed, angel, listen to me…"

"No!" she shouted.  She couldn't handle this a single second longer.  The pain was unbearable.  She had to make it stop right now.  "Don't 'angel' me, Anakin!"  

He flinched at her rebuke and stood mutely with his hands hanging limply at his sides. 

Padmé turned away and gazed sightlessly out the window.  Despite the scorching rage burning in her gut, truly she felt hollow – empty – vacant.  The moment she had heard Mara's words, her heart had shattered into a million shards.  Now she had nothing left to give – not to him.  Not after what he had done.  Not after he had, in one inconceivable instant, demolished the very basis of their marriage, the foundation on which she had built her life with him for nearly a quarter-century.  Just like that, everything was gone.  It left her with a profound void in her heart.  "I want to be alone," she finally said after the pained, intense silence.  "You should go."

"I need you," he said to her back, the agony in his voice tearing at the buried hints of compassion deep beneath her fury.  "You need me.  We need each other more than ever.  I need your help.  Please.  Please help me."

Again she was quiet for a very long time.  How could she go on, when she couldn't even look at him?  How could she hug him – kiss him – hold him – give her body to him?  He had betrayed her more horrifically than she ever had imagined possible, and it was all her fault.  She wasn't good enough for him.  Her love hadn't been enough.  If only she had loved him more passionately, more intensely, more fiercely, more powerfully…  If only she had been enough for him, this would never have happened.  He had betrayed her, but only because she had betrayed him with her inadequacy.  This was all her fault.  "I don't know," she finally whispered.  "I don't think I can handle this.  I don't think I can trust you.  You betrayed me, Anakin, and I failed you.  I can't handle this."

"Please, Padmé, don't," he pleaded.  "Please."

She faced him again, and the simple sight of him engulfed her with utter hopelessness.  The void in her heart swallowed her soul.  "No," she said.  "I can't.  I just can't."

His legs were shaking beneath him.  "What can I do?  I will do anything you ask."

She only shook her head.  She had nothing left.  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  She was dead inside.  "Leave," she said.  "You can leave."

For an eternal moment she watched his dull blue eyes cry out to her infinite pain until without another word Anakin tipped his head in a simple nod and walked out the bedroom door.  

Padmé could only stare at the empty space in the room where he had been sitting for so long, unable to move or think or do anything at all as tears streamed down her cheeks.  Finally she found the will to stagger across the room to her vanity.  She reached around to the back of her neck and unclasped the thin chain, catching the japoor snippet in her other hand as it fell from her throat.  After a long and slow deep breath, she set the pendant down on the dark wooden surface at the base of the large mirror – an act of total defeat more excruciating than any other in her entire life.  

Then she collapsed into the chair and sobbed.  


	16. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Late in the evening Padmé strode listlessly from the residence's library and headed toward the master bedroom.  It had been a long, tiring day at the Senate, with countless demands made on Chancellor Amidala's time and numerous decisions from the important to the trivial presented for her judgment.  Somehow she had managed to arrive home in time for dinner, only to find that her children were as utterly distracted as she was.  Leia's distress had not abated.  Luke had become uncharacteristically aloof and seemed to be going out of his way to avoid Mara, who was as grim and dour as Padmé had ever seen a Jedi.  Bryon barely was able to remain awake for more than an hour or two at a time, and Sarré was completely exhausted from tending to him every moment of the day.  Only Danaé seemed to have a measure of composure, and she was running ragged trying in vain to keep the household civil and functional.  And the gaping void in the family constantly haunted them all. 

When she caught herself idly twirling the golden wedding band on her left ring finger while she ambled along, Padmé realized she had no idea how many days it had been since she had sent Anakin away.  It felt like forever, but really it couldn't have been much more than a standard week.  It had been at least six days, for certain – just as the medical droids had predicted, Bryon had awakened on his second day on Coruscant and had recovered enough to no longer need the bacta tank two days later.  After one more day in the hospital he had come home yesterday.  At least Padmé thought it was yesterday.  It might have been the day before, or even three days ago.  She had no idea.  

Padmé was so fatigued every muscle in her body ached beyond comprehension, yet when she closed her eyes at night she couldn't sleep but only tossed and turned until dawn.  She was juggling more responsibilities and tasks as Chancellor than she ever had done before, yet she was completely incapable of fixing her concentration on anything for longer than a few minutes at a time.  She was striving to keep her family sane, yet her own emotions seemed constantly on the verge of either scattering to the stars or imploding upon themselves.  She was falling apart – and the bedrock on which she always had found stability had been pulverized and swept away.  

She didn't know how she could go on without him.  

Then Padmé heard the angry voices from behind the closed door of Luke's bedroom.  It was a vicious screaming match, more venomous than she had heard in many years.  With a few quick strides she reached the door and waved it open.  

"… you pompous… self-righteous… unkempt… megalomaniac!"  Leia's face was flushed bright red as she hollered at her twin.  "What gives you the right?  Tell me!  What gives you the right?"  

"I'm your brother," Luke shouted back with equal vehemence.  "I always look out for you.  And you're being completely unreasonable!  You're a Galactic Senator, not some rebel accountable only to yourself!" 

"Is that what you think he is?  A rebel?  He has more loyalty and honor than you'll ever have!" 

"This isn't about what I think about him!  It's about you.  The Navy protects its own.  I don't care how much influence you think you have, you can't just declare yourself a one-woman rescue team.  It doesn't work that way!"

Leia clenched her fists.  "It does if I say it does!"

"You really have lost your mind," Luke hissed in exasperation.  "Are you even listening to yourself?  I'm beginning to wonder if you need to be…"  

Padmé tuned out the ongoing quarrel and pondered the fact that apparently her presence in the room had yet to be noticed by either her son or daughter.  She knew they were taking out their pain and grief on each other, and their father's absence only made everything many times worse.  Before the situation could deteriorate into physical violence – which right about now seemed a distinct possibility – she took action.  Walking deliberately between them, she held out her palms toward their chests.  "Enough!"  

In an instant the twins stood mutely in place, eyes downcast in embarrassment.  

"Go see your brother.  Both of you.  Now."  

They looked up at her.  

"Together.  Now."  Padmé lowered her arms and crossed them over her chest.  "I said _now_."  

Meekly the twins nodded and walked out the door.  

---

Seated in a big, comfortable plush chair in the corner with Sarré cuddled sound asleep in his lap, Bryon smiled when Danaé and Mara walked through the open door of his bedroom.  "Hey."

"Hey," his sister smiled back.  "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he said.  "That and my legs are asleep."  

Danaé laughed quietly as she strode over to him and bent down.  Carefully she scooped up the slumbering girl and carried her easily to the bed a few paces away.  

Bryon chuckled to himself at how small Sarré looked in his tall sister's arms.  "Thanks," he said after she had laid her down and tucked her under the covers.  He ran his hands vigorously up and down his thighs.  "Oh, that is so much better!" 

Mara folded herself into a cross-legged position at his feet.  "You couldn't have woken her?" 

He shook his head and laughed.  "I wish.  She barely lets me out of her sight.  Trying to get her to break physical contact…  She'll be angry when she wakes up."  

After he moved his arm Danaé sat down on the armrest of the chair.  "I'll take the blame for it, then." 

"Thanks for the offer," he said, "but it won't work."  

Mara winked.  "What if you're next to her when she wakes up?"

"That would work," Bryon nodded thoughtfully.  "Just be sure to remind me before I fall asleep here." 

Danaé put a hand on his shoulder.  "I will.  I promise." 

Bryon took a deep breath.  "I finally was awake for long enough to read the report on the battle… and everything… and well…"  He took another long breath and sighed.  His father's banishment spoke for itself.  "Well, I read it."  

Danaé and Mara nodded.  

"There wasn't anything about Mom's election.  How did that happen?"  

"I talked to her for a while last night," Danaé said.  She furrowed her brow for a moment, then began to explain what she knew.  

Bryon was struggling to stay awake when his sister finished her tale a while later.  Before he could thank her, though, he heard a tentative knock on the doorframe and looked up.  "Oh, good," he said.  "Now we can finally really start the party."  

Luke and Leia tried their best to smile and walked inside.  

Bryon leaned forward in the chair to accept Leia's embrace.  As she squeezed him tightly he heard a muffled protest from the vicinity of the bed.  He looked over with raised eyebrows.  "What's that?" 

"I said," Sarré grumbled through the fog of slumber, "no fair.  You cheated."

"I'm offended!  You know I never cheat.  Ever."  

Sarré propped her head up on one hand and rolled her eyes.  "Ha!  Which one of you carried me?"  

Danaé straightened her shoulders.  "I did."

Bryon could only laugh when Sarré shot him a stern glare.  "Okay, okay.  So I cheated."

---

Leia glanced over at the bed to see that Sarré had dozed off again.  So much for her pledge to stay awake as long as Bryon could.  "Well, you win." 

From his spot in the chair her little brother grinned.  "Eventually she'll figure out that I have an unfair advantage, seeing as how I'm not the one who's sleep-deprived."  

"Sure," Danaé winked, "but until then…"

"Oh, yeah," Bryon laughed.  "For everything it's worth." 

Leia adjusted herself on the floor, leaning her back against the side of the bed and pulling her knees up to her chest.  "Anyway," she said, returning to the discussion that had begun as soon as Luke and Mara had left together, "that's what Luke and I were arguing about when Mom came in.  What do you think?"  

Danaé furrowed her brow.  "I agree with him on the bottom line, at least for now.  Your obligations as Senator come first.  They have to.  Especially when we have so little information." 

"You're right, as much as I don't want to admit it," Leia nodded reluctantly.  "I don't know where he's being held.  I don't know if they'll try to collect the Hutts' bounty on him.  I don't… And I…  And I don't even know whether he's still alive." 

Bryon reached out a hand to squeeze her shoulder.  "If Calrissian and Chewbacca promised to tell you everything they find out, then you'll know as soon as the Navy does.  They're good men, Leia.  They won't let you down." 

"I know," Leia sighed.  "I trust them.  It's just the Navy I'm worried about.  Han… he's… he's just one prisoner among hundreds from Gimna 3.  Thousands from the whole front.  The Navy doesn't care about him in particular.  They can't afford to.  They have bigger responsibilities.  He's nothing special to them.  He's only…"  _He's only special to me_, she finished to herself.  

Danaé got down from the armrest and settled herself next to Leia, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  "Everything will be okay," she said.  "You have to believe that."  

"It's not easy," Leia whispered.  "Not after everything that's happened.  And I'm really scared that Mom and Daddy…"  She let her voice trail off and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  In Bryon's brown eyes she saw reflected her own paralyzing fear for their family's future.  She couldn't even comprehend what life would be like if her parents weren't able to reconcile.  It was unthinkable.  

"Danaé's right about what you should do right now," Bryon finally said, breaking the eerie silence in his bedroom.  "Once we find out where he's being held, though…  Then we'll go in and get him."

Leia raised her eyebrows.  "_We?_  A bold statement for someone who sleeps all day and can barely walk."  

Bryon laughed.  "Well, okay, maybe not me for a while.  But I'm sure you'll have no trouble rounding up a team.  Calrissian and Chewbacca will want in, of course.  And if nothing else Luke and Mara are always up for a mission that involves aggressive negotiations."  

"Good point," Leia laughed too, glad he had appreciated her attempt to lighten the mood and take their minds off everything that had gone wrong.  The thought of turning the tables on Han – the same rescue team from Xixus except that she was the one rescuing him instead of the other way around – was the first genuinely amusing thought she'd had in days.  And she knew one thing for sure: she'd never let him live it down.  

Danaé pulled Leia closer.  "By the way, what exactly is going on between Luke and Mara?" 

"He won't tell me," Leia said.  "Knowing the two of them, though, whatever it is, it's sure to be complicated." 

---

Luke sat down across from Mara on the sofa.  Out the wide window of the residence's salon their view of the dark sky of night was sprinkled with thousands upon thousands of artificial stars, multicolored points of light from the towering skyscrapers and zooming airspeeders.  He glanced over to see her watching him, her eyes flickering nervously and her fingers clenching in uncharacteristic anxiety in her lap.  

"We need to talk," she said.  

He nodded.  

She leaned forward almost imperceptibly, as if she didn't know whether to kiss him or spring to her feet and flee.  "I think about you all the time now," she began, her voice hushed and strangely insistent.  "Every second of the day.  It never used to be that way.  You know that as well as I do.  But then Xixus happened, and the Battle of the Trade Spine, and everything changed.  When I think about you my heart races.  My palms sweat.  Whenever I'm around you I'm so happy it hurts.  I can't breathe."  She paused, her green eyes piercing his in a fervent stare.  "And then, on Tatooine…  That kiss still blazes in my soul like the blade of a lightsaber.  I felt whole.  The part of me that always had felt incomplete – empty – was finally filled.  When I'm around you I'm a different person.  When I'm apart from you I feel hollow in my heart.  I never thought it would be you, but it is." 

The fact that he felt the same way only made the doubts in Luke's mind all the more painful.  He tried to speak but couldn't make the words form in his throat.  

"I want us to go before Council," she finally said, the intense passion burning in her voice.  She leaned toward him even more, begging him to kiss her and accept her idea to seek the Order's approval for their attachment.  

Before he even realized he had shifted backward to keep the distance between them, Luke heard himself speaking.  "I can't… We can't…"  He sucked in a deep breath, hoping against hope it would still the thundering of his heartbeat and calm the sinking, lurching roiling in his gut.  "It's not a good idea." 

"I've felt your emotions, Luke, as clearly as I've felt my own," she said.  The sting of his words echoed in her voice.  "I know you don't believe that.  We feel the same way; I know we do.  Open your heart and…"

"It's not that simple," he interrupted as he instinctively rose to his feet and backed away two paces.  "We disobeyed our orders and it killed our friends.  I wasn't in control, and I lost my hand.  I'd be dead myself, if Master Obi-Wan hadn't given his life for me.  And my failure is part of the reason… it's part of the reason my father lost control too."  She flinched at the mention of Anakin and looked away, but quickly she looked back up at him again from where she still sat on the sofa.  "Think about what's happened to people I care about, Mara.  They die.  Or they almost die, or awful things happen to them.  They die, or they fail like I did and it tears our family apart.  I couldn't handle it if it happened to you too." 

"But you can't deny how you feel," she exclaimed in disbelief, launching to her feet and taking a long stride toward him.  "You can't!" 

Luke took a matching stride backward and crossed his arms over his chest.  "I won't risk it," he persisted, unable to keep the anguish from his voice any longer.  "Ralli was a good friend.  I'll always think fondly of her, for the brief time we shared together.  Master Obi-Wan is… was… was a mentor and an uncle and a friend and an idol all rolled into one.  But they don't mean anything to me compared to you.  And my father… he's… he's my father.  He's my hero.  You have to understand, Mara, I can't lose you like I lost Ralli and Master Obi-Wan.  I couldn't live with myself if you did what my father did.  I can't let it happen."  

"You're not being rational," Mara despaired.  She kept the distance, but her eyes pleaded with him to reconsider.  "Ralli didn't die because you cared for her.  Obi-Wan didn't die because of your bond with him.  And…"  She stopped and swallowed hard.  "And your father's weakness is his fault and his fault alone.  Trust your feelings, Luke.  Follow your heart."

"I won't let you destroy your future for me!"

"It's my future to give," she roared, her voice cracking and her knees trembling beneath her.  "How can you deny your feelings?  How can you refuse to acknowledge what's in your heart?" 

Luke closed his eyes for a moment, let his arms fall limply to his sides, and took a long, slow breath.  "I'm not ready to go before the Council," he said softly.  "I'd be condemning you to a terrible fate.  I know I would be.  And I can't do that."  

"Please, Luke.  Please, don't."  

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I'm sorry." 

Mara hugged her arms severely to her chest, squeezed her eyes tightly closed, and rocked back and forth on her feet from heels to toes.  Finally she opened her eyes again and met his gaze.  "Tell me you're not… you're not…"  Her voice was plaintive; her eyes were brimming with barely restrained tears.  "Tell me you're not cutting me out of your life." 

"I'm not," he whispered.  "I just… I just need some time.  I just need the time to figure everything out.  To get myself in order before I make promises to you I can't keep.  So I don't hurt you."

"So you don't _hurt_ me?"  She shook her head, and her tears began to flow.  "What do you think this is doing?" 

"It's for the best.  It's the only way."  

"It's _not_ the only way," she cried out furiously.  "We can follow our hearts.  Please.  Please."

"I'm sorry," he said again, keeping his voice as dull and flat as possible to conceal just how close he was to capitulating.  "This is how it has to be for now."

"For now," she repeated as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.  "For now." 

Luke couldn't bear to see the pain on her face or sense her agony in the Force any longer.  "I should go."

Mara's eyes made one last attempt to beg him to reconsider.  When he said nothing more, she nodded weakly and turned her back to him.  Very faintly he heard her say, "Then go." 

He looked at the floor as he strode from the salon as quickly as he could – before he could change his mind.  

---****

Sarré tiptoed back to the side of the bed and looked down at Bryon.  He was lying on his back, his chest rising and falling slowly as he slept.  Even though they hardly were visible in the dim lighting, the large swaths of scars on his bare skin still made her tremble – as did the thought of the cybernetic devices that remained implanted within him until cloned organs being grown from his own genetic material could replace them a few weeks from now.  Very gently she reached out and ran the fingertips of one hand along the moist skin of his arm while her other hand pulled up the sheets to his shoulders.  

She had come so horribly close to losing him.  

Sarré smiled as she brushed a few loose strands of damp brown hair off his forehead.  Then she adjusted the fit of his white undershirt on her shoulders; it hung loosely around her neck and down almost to her knees, covering completely her blue sleepshorts.  The fit was much, much too big for her – but it was the comfort of him that she relished as she paced toward the door.  

The door swished open, and Sarré nearly collided with the figure striding down the hallway.  For a long moment she couldn't find her voice.  "Hello, Padmé."  

Bryon's mother grinned mischievously.  "Hello, Sarré." 

Sarré reached up and started to run her fingers quickly through her utterly tangled blonde hair before she realized there was nothing she could do about the perspiration glistening on her skin or the blissful rosy flush to her face.  She let her hands fall to her sides in defeat.  "Well," she sighed, "this is embarrassing."  

"If we could make it past the Lake Country, we'll make it past this too," Padmé chuckled, wrapping an arm around Sarré's shoulders.  "Come on, let's start a tradition."  

When they arrived in the kitchen, Sarré poured two tall glasses of ice-cold water as Padmé glanced furtively toward the wine rack.  Passing Bryon's mother her glass, Sarré knew there was a different pleasure Padmé needed even more than wine.  She could read it in Padmé's demeanor – an almost overwhelming wistful longing triggered by seeing Sarré this way.  

Before Sarré could say anything Padmé turned around and winked, her pale green nightgown rustling softly from the movement.  "So I guess I don't need to ask how Bryon is feeling."  

"Yeah," Sarré nodded shyly.  "I don't think the medical droid would approve, but… we both really needed to… well… you know…"  

"I do," Padmé smiled warmly.  "He made it.  That's definitely something to celebrate."  

"Uh huh.  It seemed like an eternity since… since Naboo."  Sarré could feel her face burning, but Padmé only smiled gently.  Seeing the painful yearning all over Padmé's face, Sarré couldn't hold back.  She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.  "Padmé, may I say something deeply personal to you?  I don't want you to take offense, but I need to say it." 

Padmé took a long drink from her glass, finishing off its contents.  "Yes, Sarré.  Anything."  

"You need to go to Anakin."

Padmé stood there, leaning against the counter, looking at her.  

"You love him.  He loves you.  I have no doubt of that whatsoever.  But, Padmé, he won't make the first move.  He will honor your wishes until you tell him you've changed what you want.  You need to go to him."  

Padmé still did not speak, but a single tear traced down her cheek.  

"It won't be easy for either of you, I know that.  But love is the most precious thing in the universe, Padmé."  Sarré was crying now too.  "Believe me, every second of the day I think about how close I came to losing Bryon.  I almost lost him.  I almost lost him, Padmé.  It was out of my hands entirely, and others saved him for me.  But you control this – you and Anakin.  Nothing stands between you but your decision."  Sarré choked down a sob.  "I almost lost him.  Don't let that happen to you.  Don't give up on Anakin.  Don't give up on yourself.  Don't give up on what you have together.  Fight for it, Padmé.  Fight for it.  You have to.  You just have to."  

Padmé swallowed hard.  "I don't know," she said softly, the pain thick in her voice.  "What he did… I just don't… I thought it could never happen again and I… I just don't know if I can forgive this.  I really don't."

Tears ran down Sarré's cheeks.  "You have to.  I don't know how, but you just have to.  He needs you, now more than ever.  And you need him more than ever too, with your own responsibilities.  You can't give up on him or on your love for each other."  

Padmé didn't say a word as she cried too.  

In an instant Sarré made her decision.  She would break her promise to Bryon.  She had to.  If it could bring his parents to their senses, make them see how much they loved each other and needed each other, then she had to do it.  So she did.  "Padmé?"

"Yes, Sarré?"  

"I'm pregnant."  

Miraculously the glass did not break when it clattered to the tile floor with an ear-piercing clang, drowning out the gasp that escaped from Padmé's throat as her hands shot to the counter to keep herself from collapsing to the floor.  "You're… you're…"

Sarré took a deep breath.  "On Naboo last month we got married.  We didn't plan for this but… well… it happened anyway.  Bryon and I are married, and I'm carrying his child."  

Padmé continued to stare, her jaw hanging open.  

"Please don't be angry," Sarré said quietly yet pleadingly.  "We never meant to hurt anyone.  We just… I don't know… we just had to do it.  I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry."  

Padmé blinked hard, then rubbed her eyes.  Her chest rose and fell in a long, deep breath.  Then she strode over to Sarré and wrapped her in a fierce, heartfelt embrace.  "I'm not angry," she whispered.  "Just a little shocked.  Well, a lot shocked.  But I'm not angry.  I promise.  I promise."  

"Thank you," Sarré sighed happily.  "I'm so relieved." 

Within their embrace Padmé leaned back and looked into Sarré's eyes.  "Who else knows?"  

"Leia does," Sarré said.  "While we were on the _Falcon_ she figured out that I was having morning sickness.  But no one else.  We were going to tell everyone tomorrow since we'll all be here for lunch."  

"I can keep the secret that long," Padmé vowed with affected solemnity as they separated.  

"Thanks," Sarré smiled.  Then she made another decision.  She reached down to the hem of Bryon's gigantic undershirt and tugged it up into a clump against her breastbone.  "I can't believe it," she said softly, looking down at her exposed abdomen.  "I can't believe I'm actually carrying our baby.  I mean, I'm not showing or anything yet.  And I don't really feel that different, at least not so far.  It's almost like… like a dream."  

Padmé gazed affectionately into Sarré's eyes.  "I felt that way at first when I was pregnant with Luke and Leia.  Some things change so gradually you hardly notice them, others change faster.  And one day you'll wake up and just… know.  It's a beautiful experience."  

Sarré only nodded.  

Tentatively Padmé extended her hand.  "May I?"  

"Of course," Sarré said.  "Of course."  Very gently her mother-in-law ran a hand over the bare skin of her belly.  

After a long moment Padmé withdrew her hand.  "It's not a dream, Sarré.  Not a dream at all."  She swallowed hard.  "Thank you."  

"You're welcome."  Sarré could see the tears welling up in Padmé's eyes again.  

Padmé was silent for a very long time before she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  "I need to go."  

Watching her leave, Sarré smiled.  

---

Padmé stood at the railing of the small balcony above the bedroom, staring into the sparkling nighttime skyline of the capital city-planet.  She crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the chill; her nightgown was too thin for the brisk wind blowing tonight.  She took a deep breath and pondered the conversation she had fled minutes earlier.  In an instant – in the flash of a few unexpected words – the girl who was her son's lover had transformed before her eyes into the young woman who was her daughter-in-law and mother of her first grandchild.  

Sarré was right.  

Anakin would never act first.  He loved her too much.  When she had told him how much he had hurt her and that she didn't know how she could go on, he had tried to argue with her at first.  But when she had made her decision that he should leave patently clear to him, he had left without another word.

He would do anything she asked.  He always had; he always would.

She needed Anakin.  His love was the bedrock of her life.  For nearly a quarter-century he had been both the center of her world and the counterbalance to all her weaknesses.  Even when he was away on a mission and wasn't in their bed with her at night, she carried his love with her in her heart.  It kept her warm and safe.  They were two halves of a whole.  Without him she would shrivel and die. 

She couldn't go on this way.  

Anakin needed her.  From the earliest moments of their love for each other she had been the core of his very being.  When the dark side had tempted him all those years ago, it was her love that had pulled him back from the brink.  In the years since thoughts of her had been the foundation stone of the emotional serenity he had achieved as a Jedi Master.  He had said many times she was his reason for living.  She believed him.  

He couldn't live without her.  

And yet despite the power of their love, he had used the dark side again.  Now that her own rage at his betrayal had dissipated, she knew it wasn't her fault.  His failure had been his and his alone.  In his moment of blind fury he had killed dozens of enemies with a single thought.  His anger and hatred had boiled over into an evil madness that had threatened to destroy him – and that had inflicted unknowable harm upon his apprentice.  Anakin owed a duty to Mara almost as sacred as the one he owed to Padmé, and yet he not only had allowed terrible pain to come to his Padawan – he had inflicted it himself.  

If it happened once, it could happen again.  It could happen to her.  

But Sarré was right.  Padmé couldn't give up on him.  She had to fight for him.  Not only for her love for him, but also for his soul.  She knew as clearly as she knew anything that Anakin was in greater danger without her than with her.  Her love had not been enough to keep him from the darkness on Gimna 3, and perhaps it would not be enough in the future either.  But what was the alternative?  Anakin would be alone.  She knew for certain that with her help, his chances of avoiding the darkness within himself were immeasurably greater.  

To give up on their love was to abandon him to the darkness.  

And that was something Padmé could not do.  She loved him too much.  He had hurt her tremendously with his betrayal, and she wasn't sure she ever would be able to forgive him fully for it.  But she hadn't come this far, devoted so much of her soul to him, pledged her heart and life to him forever to turn her back on him now.  He had betrayed her, that was true, but it was not a reason to walk away – it was a reason to cling to him more tightly than ever, to infuse him with all the love and strength and hope she could find within herself until he retreated from the precipice of darkness and found his way in the light again.  

She loved him.  

She always had and she always would – no matter what.  There was nothing else she needed to know. 

Padmé turned around and descended the spiral staircase into the bedroom.  She found her personal comlink on the nightstand and activated it as she walked to her vanity.  

The young man's voice responded immediately.  "How may I assist you, Your Excellency?"  

Padmé reached down, picked up the japoor snippet pendant from its resting place at the base of the large mirror, and closed her fingers around it resolutely.  "Colonel, I need my personal speeder ready in ten minutes."  

"Of course, Your Excellency.  And the destination?"

"The Jedi Temple."

---

Anakin sat cross-legged on the floor of his meditation chamber deep within the Jedi Temple.  Despite the utter lack of light in the windowless room, from habit he kept his eyes closed.  His breathing was slow and methodical, his heartbeat minimally paced, and his muscles relaxed.  It was the apogee of physical control.  

His meditations in the Force were remarkably serene as well.  For hours he had not moved as he deliberately and meticulously worked to restore calm to his emotions.  It was an exhausting endeavor.  

In a matter of little more than two standard days his life had disintegrated around him.  Doubts now plagued him about Ellina and Cimma and Sidious in days long gone.  Bryon easily could have been killed along with Millius, only to come within a hairsbreadth of death on Gimna 3.  Leia had lost Han to enemy capture.  Danaé had lost her beloved former Master.  Luke had lost his self-control, his right hand, and his Master.  Mara had lost her innocence, in more ways than one.  Anakin had lost more than any of them – his composure, his confidence, his stability, his dearest and oldest friend, and most of all the trust of those he loved.  The failures within himself he could repair and rebuild with patience and effort.  Penance for his failures to others had to be earned through deeds and pain.  No matter the price, though, he would pay it.  He would do whatever it took to restore what he had destroyed with his terrible act on Gimna 3.  

The Sith Master had taunted him – and he had proven her correct.  In one awful moment of weakness he had felt the seductive temptation of the dark side in his spirit.  The overwhelming sense of helplessness – powerlessness – weakness – despair that he first had felt as a young boy unable to prevent the violation of his mother had roared back in his soul with the blinding rage of long-repressed vengeance when he had sensed the danger to his children.  The yearning to help them – to save them – had been unbearable, and he had grasped madly for the forbidden powers that seemed in that moment his only salvation.  As it had been two decades ago, of course, the dark enticements had not brought victory and omnipotence but only failure and suffering.  

It was a mistake he had thought he would never make again.  But now he had.  

So Anakin continued to sit in place on the floor, meditating.  The soothing currents of the light side of the Force cleansed his thoughts and salved his wounded spirit.  He purged the tingles of darkness from his soul and defeated the remnants of fear and anger and hate.  He reviewed and reconsidered every single action he had taken from the horrifying Force-vision before his journey to Naboo until his failure on Gimna 3.  He studied the infinite alternatives that had presented themselves in the alley in Theed, in the Cathedral, during the foot pursuit, in the starship hangar, at the Naberries, at the Royal Palace, on the _Lady Vader_ and the _Invictus_, during the evacuation, fighting on the plaza alongside Mara, and lastly when the incomprehensible perceptions had reached him through the Force.  He identified his moments of weakness and his mistakes in judgment.  He saw when he had made the best decision and when he had not.  He traced again and again and again his path to failure until he knew with true and perfect clarity why it had happened and how to ensure it never happened again.  He vowed to repeat this task every day for as long as he lived.  He would not fail again.  He had paid too high a price two decades ago and now – and he would not pay it again.  Ever.  His ruminations finally completed, Anakin cleared his mind once more and fell into a deep and refreshing trance.  

An unknowable length of time later Anakin's perceptions suddenly rocketed to full alert.  

At first he couldn't understand why.  Immediately he knew it wasn't from a threat – it didn't feel like that.  It wasn't that Mara had contacted him through the Force, or that Luke or Danaé had reached out to him.  And without the sensation of fear or danger it couldn't be a problem with Leia or Bryon either.  So that left only…

Padmé.  

When he stopped his contemplations and simply opened his mind to the Force, he felt her presence in his mind.  For almost twenty-five years she had been as inextricably a part of his awareness as his own mind and body.  He couldn't _not_ perceive her in the Force – it would be like trying to stop perceiving an arm or a leg.  He didn't even have to think about her.  She was just _there_.  She was a part of him.  

And so in that instant when he reached for the place within his soul where he always found the warm and loving union that was Padmé, he knew with complete and utter certainty why his subconscious had intruded with such insistence.  He could feel it as plainly as if she had spoken it to him in words.  

Anakin sprang to his feet and charged toward the exit.  He waved his hand and watched the door to the meditation room rising in seeming slow motion – so he lunged to the floor and rolled gracefully beneath the half-open portal.  In a flash he was on his feet again and running down the hallway as fast as he could.  

As his booted feet pounded on the elegant tile floors of the Temple's corridors, he ignored the surprised chatter of the younglings, the nervous laughter of the Padawans, and the disapproving glances from the Masters.  One did not run within the Jedi Temple.  It simply was not done.  A Jedi must remain calm and at peace, even when time was of the essence.  The appearance of being in a hurry was unseemly – and actually being in a hurry was evidence of impatience and lack of restraint and who knows how many other qualities to be avoided.  No one had seen Master Skywalker run in years.  Some of the apprentices insisted he no longer could.  Others claimed that he and Master Windu once had engaged in a contest of wills to see who could take _longer_ to walk from the Council chamber to the cafeteria, only to discover that Master Yoda had gone even slower than either them.  Master Skywalker did not run – especially not inside the Temple.  

Anakin ran anyway.  

Before he knew it he had arrived at the small reception area in a lower level of the Temple's pyramid base where outsiders arrived on those rare occasions when they were permitted to visit.  Without a word he tore past the startled trio of Padawans sitting idly at the desk – a post they no doubt had expected to have its usual testing boredom this night.  His hands smacked against the glass doors and swung them open with a mighty whoosh.  He flew into the chilly nighttime air toward the far end of the long, narrow landing platform.  

The blue Senate airspeeder rocked gently on its landing gear as he arrived.  With a flurry of footfalls he pulled up to a sudden stop and stared at the door of the rear passenger compartment slowly opening upward and outward from the side of the fully enclosed, heavily armored craft.  Like the portal to his meditation chamber, it seemed to last an eternity.  Finally he watched as a boot emerged, followed by a slender leg clothed in a simple blue flight suit, then a small hand and an arm in the matching flight suit sleeve, and then… 

Padmé.  

He almost couldn't breathe as she walked the dozen paces to him.  The japoor snippet pendant hung over the high collar of the flight suit, twinkling in the dim glow of the landing lights on the platform.  Her hair was pulled back into a single plait, except for two stray strands that had escaped their captivity and hung down her porcelain skin in front of her left eye.  She looked nothing like the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and everything like the angel that she was to him – his heart, his soul, his life.  

She did not stop walking until she had collapsed into his arms, pulling him into an embrace so fierce and firm and desperate that it knocked the air from his lungs.  He crushed her against his chest as tightly as he dared, clutching her with an intensity he'd forgotten was possible.  Tears streamed down his cheeks and dripped into her hair as she buried her face against him and her body shook with sobs.  

After a long time Padmé rubbed her cheeks on the front of his robes to dry them, then leaned back in their embrace and looked up into his eyes.  Anakin reached up his hand and brushed the two loose, curly strands away from her eye, tucking them behind her ear in a loving gesture so familiar to both of them.  Their gaze said everything words couldn't – her fear and pain and grief and faith; his remorse and anguish and sorrow and hope.  There was much to discuss and much to mourn, much to atone for and much to forgive.  It would be long and difficult.  It would be the greatest test of their marriage.  

He loved her.  She loved him.  

Nothing else mattered.  

She released her hands from his back.  First she wiped the tears from his cheeks, then brushed her fingers through his short gray hair.  She traced down his neck to his shoulders before she gripped the front of his robes and tugged him toward her again.  

His voice caught in his throat.  He could get out only a single word.  "Angel…"

"Come home, Ani," she said.  "Come home." 

---****

Bryon cinched his belt around his waist and reached for the damp towel on the end of his bed.  He wiped away the drips of water on his bare shoulders and back, then rubbed the towel vigorously through his hair.  Satisfied the short brown strands finally were adequately dry, he looped the towel around his neck and gripped the ends in his fists.  He glanced over to the bed at the formal, pressed silk shirt Sarré had set out for him.  "Remind me again," he said, raising his voice a bit to carry through the open door to the refresher, "why I have to wear this."

Her joyful laugh echoed into his bedroom.  "Because I said so." 

He laughed too.  "Let me rephrase.  Remind me again why you selected this." 

"Because you look nice in it." 

"Well, sure," he agreed.  "But this is lunch with our families."

She laughed again.  "This isn't an ordinary lunch, Bryon."

"I suppose not.  But I still don't see why I have to dress up."

"Look, soldier," she teased as she emerged from the refresher, "just follow orders, okay?" 

Bryon's heart skipped a beat when he saw her.  She wore a slim dress of brightly colored diaphanous fabric.  It flattered her hips and waist and the tight bodice complemented a plunging neckline in a sultry sight that took his breath away.  Her blonde hair had a slight wave and hung loosely around her face, which was accented by a hint of rouge on her cheeks, a sheen of gloss on her lips, and soft tones of lavender shadowing matching her eyes.  For a moment his legs wobbled beneath him.  She looked like a holodrama star.  No, she was even more gorgeous than that.  He always had thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and now she had outdone herself ten-fold.  

Sarré smiled and walked over to him, her dress whispering seductively to him with each step.  She tossed his towel aside, traced her fingertips down his scarred bare chest, and gazed up into his eyes.  "Bryon?" 

"You… you… you look…"  

"Yes?"  

He gulped a breath of air and reached out to cup her cheek in his palm.  "You look absolutely stunning." 

She winked.  "Literally."

"Yes," he laughed.  "Literally."  

"And why do you think I did this for lunch today?"  

He pondered the question for a long moment.  Then he understood.  She was a politician through and through – and now she was using those formidable skills on their families.  "To remind them that you're all grown up now."  

Her eyes sparkled deviously and her voice was low and thick with longing.  "You would know, wouldn't you?"  

His breath hitched in his throat.  "This is so unfair," he gasped.  "You're just being cruel.  Really, really cruel."  

She stretched up to plant a soft kiss on his lips.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "Truly."  

Bryon shrugged.  "I forgive you."  

Sarré retrieved the folded shirt from the bed and held it open for him.  "Hang on to those thoughts," she said as he slipped his arms in the sleeves, "and I'll make it up to you.  I promise."  

"I'll hold you to that," he grinned.  "Count on it."  

Her fingers gently began to link the buttons down the center of his chest.  "I will."  

When she finished he took her hands in his.  "All set?"

"Not yet," she said, motioning toward the single vanity across the room.  "Sit down."  

"Why?"  In reply he received a mischievous glare.  With a sigh he paced over and sat on the small stool, looking into her eyes in the mirror.  "Is this really necessary?"  

She stood behind him, picked up a brush from the vanity, and began to smooth out his unruly hair.  "Yes," she said.  "Yes, it is.  Every little detail matters."  

"As you wish."  

Sarré kept brushing.  "You know your father came home last night."

"Yes," he said, being careful not to nod – a hard-earned lesson.  He wasn't a Jedi, but even Bryon could feel the sense of relief that now brightened every room of the previously somber residence. 

"Last night when I went to get a drink of water, I saw your mother.  She just looked so miserable, and I couldn't imagine your father not being here for this, and I didn't know what else to do and I just…"  

He reached back with his hands and tenderly clasped her shoulders.  "And you told her."  

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  "I know I promised I wouldn't tell anyone else but it just seemed like…"

"Stop," he laughed.  "You did the right thing."

"Are you sure?"  

"I'm positive."

"Thank you," she sighed.  She ran the brush through his hair a few more times.  "All done." 

He rose to his feet and pulled her into a warm embrace.  "Are you nervous?"  

"Yes."  

"You ramble when you're nervous." 

"I know," she said.  She leaned back and looked up into his eyes.  "I'm sorry.  I'll try not to."  

"Don't," he smiled.  "It's adorable."

She frowned.  "Adorable isn't exactly what I'm going for right now." 

Bryon squeezed her to him tightly.  "You'll always be their little girl.  That will never change."

"I know," Sarré smiled back.  "But their little girl eloped and got herself pregnant."  

"That's certainly not the most diplomatic way to put it," he glowered.  "It makes _me_ nervous."

She stepped back, took his hand, and led him toward the door.  "Good point," she said.  "Their little girl married the love of her life and will bless them with a grandchild."  

"Oh, you're good," he grinned.  "You're very, very good.  Let's go with that version."  

She paused at the closed door and squeezed his hand.  "Are you ready?" 

He chuckled and shrugged.  "As ready as I'll ever be."  

---

Sarré nestled herself further into Bryon's lap in the big plush chair and felt his arms tighten around her waist reassuringly.  She quickly scanned the gathered families in the salon of the Skywalker residence.  Her parents sat on one of the sofas with Nalé between them, leaning comfortably on their father's shoulder.  Luke and Danaé were standing behind the sofa, waiting tranquilly.  Anakin and Padmé stood directly opposite Sarré, one set of hands clasped between them.  On the other sofa Mara seemed dejected and distracted, while Leia met Sarré's eyes and winked.  

"I think you probably have some idea what this is about," Sarré said calmly.  Once Bryon had regained enough strength to spend a few hours awake at a time, Leia had suggested a simple informal lunch for everyone to rejoice at his miraculous survival.  Sometime last night, however, Padmé secretly had made arrangements with a caterer for an elaborate meal, and several expensive bottles of wine were set out on the dining room table as well.  Everyone knew there was going to be something big to celebrate.  They just didn't know _how_ big.  

"Bryon and I have some things we need to tell you," she continued.  Leia still was smiling, and Padmé's face was a perfectly unreadable politician's mask.  The others all were watching Sarré patiently.  It was clear to her they were expecting the announcement of a wedding date – maybe an imminent one – but nothing more.  For a second she felt a surge of fear run through her body, and she wondered if she could go on with the announcements.  Instantly Bryon seemed to pick up on her discomfort, though, because he leaned into her and kissed the top of her head.  

There was no easy way to break the news, so Sarré just said it.  "When we were on Naboo last month we got married.  We didn't plan it, and we're really sorry we let you down." 

The startled silence in the salon lasted only a moment.  Anakin gasped.  Leia chuckled at Mara's gawking.  Luke and Danaé glanced at each other, wondering if the other had known.  Nalé whimpered and slumped against Alain's shoulder.  And Sabé sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing.  "You did _WHAT_?"  

"We got married, Mom," Sarré said.  

Sabé propped her hands on her hips and glared.  "Why?"  

Sarré barely swallowed her laugh at her mother's bluntness.  "We didn't mean to hurt you, I promise.  That's the only reason we didn't tell you until now.  We knew you'd be hurt and we didn't know how to make it up to you." 

"Nice try, young lady," Sabé growled.  "But that did _not_ answer my question." 

"That's right," roared Nalé from the sofa, almost in tears.  "It doesn't.  I can't believe you left us out!" 

Sarré felt her sister's heartache.  For months she had pestered Sarré about what role – no, Nalé wanted multiple roles – she could play in the wedding.  Now she had learned that the wedding had taken place without her.  "I know you're upset," Sarré said.  "And we're really sorry.  But we just couldn't wait any longer."

"If the next sentence out of your mouth isn't a really good reason," her mother snarled, "you'll be lucky if you're not headed toward a bacta tank yourself.  Don't think you can…"

"Sabé, please," interrupted Padmé's voice.  "Please.  Calm down."  

After a tense, electric moment in which it seemed as if Sabé might turn all her fury on her old friend, she instead exhaled a frustrated sigh, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at Sarré.  She didn't apologize, though.  

Sarré tipped her head in thanks to Padmé, then took a deep breath.  Before she could say anything, she heard Bryon's voice from over her shoulder.  

"We did it because of the Army's rule on priority contacts," he said, his voice as deep and rich as ever.  "It was my idea.  I take full responsibility." 

"Priority contacts?"  The antagonism wasn't gone from Sabé's voice.  Not yet.  

"I'm only allowed one," Bryon explained.  "One person who has priority to reach me when I'm away on a mission, and who I can break com silence to contact.  If it's anyone else, the Army will hold an incoming message until my next authorized transmission to headquarters, which is the only time I can send outgoing messages either.  The priority contact is the only person I can talk to in real time."  

Nalé somehow managed to beat her mother to the next question.  "So why'd you have to get married?"  

"Because," said Padmé's voice from behind the outraged Bellion women, "only family members are eligible."

Sabé's shoulders sagged and the anger drained from her face.  Her eyes looked past Sarré to Bryon.  "You got married so you could… so you could change it from your mother to Sarré."  

Sarré knew it was a statement of recognition, not a question, but she replied anyway.  "Yes, Mom," she said gently.  "Whenever I wanted to talk to Bryon in person when he was away, I had to set something up with Padmé and have her open the connection for me, and then let me talk to Bryon.  And hope we didn't get caught, because Bryon could've gotten in trouble if they'd found out it was me and not Padmé."  

"Oh."  It was all Sabé could say as she slumped into the sofa again.  

"It all makes sense now," Padmé laughed as she let Anakin snuggle her into a standing embrace.  "It had been so long since I'd used the priority contact myself, you figured you'd be able to find a way to tell us, or even have a second ceremony, before I ever noticed."

"Yeah, that's what we were counting on," Sarré said.  

"I'd like to point out that it _did_ work," Bryon interjected.  

Sarré reached around and batted him playfully on the back of his head.  "We just couldn't wait any longer," she said to her mother, her sister, and Padmé.  "We knew that when we got back from Naboo, Bryon was going to be deployed right away.  There wasn't time for a wedding back on Coruscant.  And we just couldn't wait.  We just couldn't.  We're really sorry."  

"I understand," Sabé nodded weakly, pulling Nalé into an embrace.  "I forgive you.  I'm sorry."  

Sarré nodded too.  She saw the others preparing to speak up and offer congratulations when Nalé's voice intruded into the silence.  

"Things," her little sister said, emphasizing the plural.  

Sarré looked at her.  "What?" 

"Things," Nalé repeated.  "Things.  You said you and Bryon had some _things_ you needed to tell us."  

"Oh, right," Sarré said.  "Yeah."  

Nalé raised her eyebrows.  "Well?" 

Sarré glanced around the room.  Padmé was exchanging a knowing smile with Leia while Anakin and Alain looked at each other in befuddlement, completely oblivious.  Inexplicably Luke and Mara were sharing a troubled, apprehensive gaze.  Danaé seemed to have already figured it out for herself, because she winked at Sarré as soon as their eyes met.  Before someone else could, Sarré said it.  "We're pregnant.  Bryon and I are going to have a baby." 

This time there were no exclamations of outrage – only tears of joy.  

---

After lunch Bryon was reclining comfortably in his chair at the long dining room table when Nalé bounded up to him and plopped down in his lap with a broad grin on her face.  He smiled too.  "So you're not too angry?"  

"Nah, not anymore," she said.  "I'm happy because you're so happy.  You'll just owe me one.  A big one."  

Bryon laughed.  "Sure thing."  

"You know what's really strange?"  

"What?"  

"I'm gonna be an aunt," Nalé said.  "Before I turn seventeen, even.  An aunt!"

"I hadn't thought about that," he admitted.  "But I'll only be twenty, and I'll be a _father_."

"Yeah.  I know much you guys love each other and everything," Nalé chuckled, "but I'm gonna wait until I'm a lot older than that before I have a child."  

"I thought that too," he said.  "But if the right person steals your heart…"

Nalé stood up and crossed her arms over her chest.  "You're just trying to scare me, Bryon, and it won't work."  

Bryon laughed happily as she spun regally on her heel and stormed away theatrically.  A moment later he felt Sarré's hand on his shoulder and looked up.  

"What was that all about?"  His wife was laughing too.  "Or do I not want to know?"

"You don't want to know."  

"We need to com Jenny and tell her," Sarré said.  "She'll be so excited for us."

"That she will," Bryon nodded.  He stood up and wrapped an arm around her waist, and she leaned into him to provide just a little bit of support as they started to walk slowly toward the door.  "By the way, Luke said he wanted to talk to us later."

"Okay," Sarré said.  "I'll be sure to remember.  Any idea what he wants to talk about?"

Bryon shrugged.  "I have no idea."

---

Leia stood alone in a corner of the dining room, gazing out the window at nothing in particular.  The bright afternoon sunlight shined off the transparisteel of the nearby towering skyscrapers and sparkled from the dazzling hues of airspeeders.  She tuned out the chatter of the others behind her until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.  

"I was thinking about her today too," her father said quietly so only she could hear.  

She lifted her eyes to meet his, and only then did she realize she had been holding her hands over her abdomen.  "I don't want to feel jealous," she whispered.  "But I do." 

"It's okay.  It's only natural."  He pulled her into an embrace.  "Sarré knows.  She'll understand."

"I know she will," Leia sighed.  "Did you talk to Bryon?"

"Not yet," Anakin said.  "I haven't been home and…  I will tonight, though.  I promise."

She smiled.  "I know you think I should tell Mom about her… and…  I'm not ready yet.  But I'm getting there."

"Only when you're ready, sweetheart," he said as he leaned down to kiss her tenderly on the forehead.  "Only when you're ready."

She tightened the embrace even more and blurted out her joy.  "You're home."

---

Late in the evening Anakin found Sarré alone in the salon, curled into a plush chair and gazing out the wide window.  As he approached her, his daughter-in-law looked up and smiled.  "I didn't mean to disturb you," he apologized.  

"It's okay," she shrugged.  "I was just thinking about everything that's happened."  

He nodded.  "There's a lot to think about."

"I don't want to know about our baby," she said after a moment.  "At least not yet."

He bowed his head to her, a silent acknowledgement of the power of both superstition and blissful surprise. 

She stretched up and clasped one of his hands.  "The good outweighs the bad, you know.  For all of us."

"I hope so," he said.  He took a deep breath.  "I came here to say thank you."

She looked at him quizzically.  "For what?"

"For what you did last night.  It helped Padmé.  It got me here today.  It changed everything."

"Oh, that," she giggled shyly.  "You're welcome.  It was nothing."

"No," Anakin said.  "It's not nothing.  You saved my life."


	17. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

King Argis IV of Vyhrrag scowled at the two dozen generals, strategists, and intelligence operatives assembled at the long, narrow table in the ornately appointed conference room in the royal palace.  Only General Tarkin, leaning back in his chair at the table's far end with his fingers steepled at his chin and casting an equally disdainful gaze around the table, was worthy of his presence.  The others were weak, sniveling cowards.  

"These are the best plans you have created?"  Argis shook his head in disbelief as he prowled back and forth along the meter-wide end of the table.  "A child could do better."

"The Republic's Declaration of War places us at a significant disadvantage, Your Majesty," said one of the generals on the left side.  "Our armada is strong, but we are no match for the Republic's combined fleets." 

Argis slammed his fist against the dark wooden surface.  "Do you take me for a fool?"

"Of course not, Your Majesty," a different general replied.  The other man shrank into his high-backed chair.  

"Then do you truly believe I would seek a direct confrontation with our enemy's full arsenal?"

"No, Your Majesty."  The third general's voice was a whisper.  

Argis stopped in place and faced the one intelligent tactician in the room.  "Enlighten the simpletons, General Tarkin.  Speak plainly so that they may comprehend your meaning."

"It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty," the elderly genius grinned.  Slowly he rose to his feet, then spread his hands as if offering a benediction.  "A full-scale assault by the Republic's fleets would defeat us.  Yet if we can make war against each fleet in turn, we will prevail against them individually.  In time, victory will be ours."

Argis scanned the gathered underlings.  "Surely even the most ignorant among you understands this much."

"And so," Tarkin continued after they nodded uneasily, "we must choose a strategy which will ensure against a full-scale assault.  Attacks across the Republic.  Sabotage throughout the galaxy.  To a greater extent than ever before we must bring the war to all the peoples of the Republic, until none of them feels safe.  As predictably as the sun rises each day the planetary governments will insist that the regional and sector fleets remain in place to protect them.  And when we control the Republic's deployments, we will have won." 

Argis slammed his fist to the table again.  "You see, my brainless servants, we are far from defeated.  Victory _will_ be mine!"  The black-bearded monarch drew himself to his full height and crossed his arms over his elegant purple robes.  "Elucidate the rest of the strategy to them, General Tarkin.  I must attend to other business."  

His black cape swirling behind him, Argis marched from the room without another glance or word to his subordinates.  Quickly he stalked through the palace's gilded corridor, down a curving marble staircase, across a brightly tiled floor and around a towering statue of a long-dead predecessor, and into another hallway.  Soon he had passed from the formal rooms into the quiet, dimly lit passages of the security team's wing.  He waved open a door and descended a narrow set of stone stairs into the dungeons.  Shortly he arrived at his destination – an intimidating wrought-iron door.  He tapped in an access code to the small keypad, then swung the door open and strode inside.  

The converted prison cell had lush carpet and painted walls, all a brilliant scarlet, along with expensive mahogany furniture.  On the left a young, dark-haired man was nursing a tumbler of whiskey.  Across the small, low table a beautiful young woman with long brunette hair lounged gracefully on the settee with a crystal goblet of wine.  Standing a few meters from them at the bar, a middle-aged woman with straight black hair and sparkling brown eyes was mixing herself a drink.  All three of them wore sleeveless black shirts and knee-length black britches.  

As he entered the trio broke off their jovial conversation, looked over, and smiled.  

"You are early, Lord Regelous," said Darth Vengous with a wink.  "What a pleasant surprise."

---

Bryon lay on his back atop the thick comforter on his bed, aimlessly gazing at the smooth azure ceiling of his bedroom in the Skywalker residence.  His right side was somewhat chilled, although he had no interest in rising to adjust the room's temperature setting – his left side was plenty warm from the heat of Sarré's body, her head resting on his chest over his heart.  Slowly he traced his fingers along her side across the tantalizing smoothness of her silk shirt while she held his other hand in hers.  

"That's everything," he said.  

She sighed.  "I just wish you had told me sooner.  I could have helped you."

"I know," he admitted.  "I wanted to.  I wanted to so badly."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I was afraid to admit to myself that I needed help.  Your help.  Anyone's help."

She tilted her face slightly and planted a gentle kiss on his chest.  "You're too proud for your own good sometimes, you know."

"Yeah."  He took a deep breath.  "I've just always felt like I've had so much to live up to.  My father and mother, obviously.  I'm not strong in the Force like Luke and Danaé.  And Leia's success in politics came so easily for her.  I've always measured myself against them.  I have to be the best at what I do, just like them."

"You pushed yourself too much this time, though."

"I did.  But I've always done it all on my own.  Everything I've achieved, I've earned.  I never got special treatment.  I never used my family's influence to cut corners."

She kissed his chest again.  "And gradually you let your self-reliance get out of control, even with me."

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I never meant it to happen.  I never realized it was happening.  I guess by the time I knew I was in trouble, I thought I could solve it myself.  I thought I could get myself out of it."

She nodded into him.  "You thought admitting you needed help would make you weak.  And you're not weak."

He shook his head in frustration.  "It was stupid.  Just plain stupid."

She giggled.  "Well, you do have that problem sometimes."  

He chuckled and squeezed her against him.  "I seem to recall you saying something to that effect in the past."

"Once or twice."

He laughed.  "Yes, once or twice."

She lifted her head off his chest and rolled on to her back, keeping her side pressed against him.  "I know I should've told you right away I was pregnant.  I'm sorry I didn't."

"I know you are." 

"It was inexcusable.  I'm really, really sorry."

Bryon reached out and took her hand.  "I forgive you.  It's okay."

"I was going to tell you," Sarré said.  "I really was.  It was the first thing I was going to tell you.  And then I saw you, and I just couldn't."

"I looked that bad, huh?"

She squeezed his hand.  "You really did, Bryon.  I'm sorry, but it's true.  From the first second I saw you I knew how much you needed me.  And not just before the mission, but during it too." 

Bryon nodded in understanding.  "And if you'd told me about the baby, I wouldn't have let you come with me."

"Exactly."

He propped up his head on his hand and looked intensely into her lavender eyes, and saw them glistening with tears.  "You risked your life, and our baby's, to help me." 

She blinked.  "I shouldn't have.  Not with the baby.  I'm sorry."

"Promise me you'll never do it again."

"I promise."

"I want you to understand," he whispered, "that if you had told me, it would've gotten me through, even if you hadn't been there by my side.  It would have been enough, just knowing what I have to live for."

"I know that now," she said.  "Bryon?"

"Yes?"

"Let's promise to always tell each other the truth, no matter what."

"Tell the truth.  No matter what."

"Yes," she said.  "No matter what.  I promise to always tell you the truth, no matter what."

"Okay.  I promise too."  He leaned over and kissed her, long and tenderly.  

"Kessa's jealous of me," she said when he finally stopped.  "I think she's attracted to you."

"Too bad for her," he laughed as he rearranged his body on the bed.  "I'm taken."

"You sure are," she laughed too.  "And don't you ever forget it."

He brushed her cheek with his fingertips, rested his other hand on her hip, and settled his head down gently on her abdomen looking up at her.  "I couldn't.  You are my whole life, Sarré.  My whole life."

"Me and our baby, you mean," she smiled down at him.  

"Yes," he smiled back happily.  "You and our baby."  

"Bryon, I have a confession to make."

"What's that?"

"On our honeymoon, when you wished for a baby…"  Her voice trailed off.  

He brushed his fingers through her hair.  "I love you, Sarré."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb.  "I was wishing for a baby too," she whispered.  "I wanted to have a baby as much as you did."  

"Really?"

"Remember that afternoon in the market the day after the wedding?  When I went into the grocery for a minute?  I lied.  It wasn't really for the snack."  She sighed and looked like she was about to cry.  "I also went to their pharmacy, Bryon.  I bought the counter-injection.  I had it with me the whole rest of the time on Naboo."

He had to remember to breathe.  "Why… Sarré… why didn't you tell me?"

She frowned, chagrined.  "As soon as I got outside with you again I panicked.  I thought it would upset you.  I thought you weren't ready."  

He laughed.  "I thought _you_ weren't ready."

"Well, you never asked me."

"No, I guess I didn't," he said.  "I'm beginning to see the value of this promise."

"Me too," Sarré said.  "No more secrets."

Bryon cuddled protectively around her – and especially around her still-flat belly.  "No more secrets."

---

Leia stood alone on the terrace of the Skywalker residence, her elbows propped against the railing and her unbound long brown hair swirling crazily in the brisk nighttime wind.  Her eyes gazed at the towering skyscrapers around her, the hundreds of tiny dots of light from zooming airspeeders, and the distant, brilliant streaks of ascending and descending starships against the dark sky.  She cupped her face in her hands and closed her eyes.  

In her mind she heard the familiar deep, warm voice.  _"Well, are you going to ask me or not?"_

Leia sighed.  She spoke aloud, if only to herself.  "What do you think I should do?"

The voice chuckled.  _"I think you should follow your heart."_  

"You would say that," she laughed.  She shivered a little and crossed her arms over her chest.  

_"Hey, it convinced you to marry me,"_ he laughed too.  _"__I think it's very good advice."_

"What about Luke?" 

_"What about him?"_

She frowned.  "You don't think he has a point?"

_"Of course he has a point,"_ the voice conceded tenderly.  _"__But I have a point too, don't I?"_

"Yes," she said.  "Yes, you do."

_"So the choice is yours."_

"It is." 

_"__And you, Leia Skywalker, of all people,"_ the voice teased, _"are afraid to make a decision."_

"Leia Organa."

_"__That is your choice as well,"_ he said.  

"It is."  She took a deep breath.  "You're right.  I am afraid to decide."

_"__Why?"_

For a long time she didn't answer.  "I miss you."

_"__I know you do.  What does that have to do with anything?"_

The chilly gusts had made her cheeks icy and her lips dry.  "It makes me doubt that I'm ready."

_"__You love him."_  It was not a question.  

"Yes," she said.  

The voice was as gentle and reassuring as it had ever been.  _"__And have you changed your mind about what you told me before?  About what Sarré said?"_

"No." 

_"__She said you've met your match in him.  You admitted to me how much you love him already.  And that you know someday you could love him as much as you loved me."_  

Leia felt two tiny teardrops leak from beneath her closed eyelids.  "Maybe more."  

_"__Indeed,"_ he rumbled.  _"__Then it would seem the choice is illusory."_

"I should follow my heart," she said.  

_"__Yes, darling."_  

"I'll do whatever it takes to find Han.  I'll find him, and then I'll rescue him."

The voice chuckled.  _"Woe unto those who stand in your path, for they shall suffer no mercy at your wrath."_

Leia laughed long and happily.  "Who am I now?  Some ill-tempered Alderaanian deity?"

_"__You?  You are far more powerful than any mere deity."_

"Very funny."  The streaks of her tears had evaporated in the wind, and now her face was even colder.  "I'll find him, I'll rescue him, and no one will stop me."

_"__Your mother and father would be proud, if you told them,"_ the voice said. 

Leia shrugged.  Now was not the time for that confession to her parents.  "Why do you say that?"

_"__You chose wisely."_

Her eyes still closed, she smiled.  "My mother does not have the highest opinion of my wisdom when it comes to matters of the heart."

_"Your mother understands the difference between matters of the heart and matters of the flesh,"_ the voice laughed robustly, matching her earlier mirth.  Then he became profoundly serious.  _"__They have sacrificed more to sustain their love than you will ever know.  Of the trillions of souls in the galaxy, they above all others would understand and honor your choice."_

Leia furrowed her brow, pondering the undeniable truth of his words.  "They approved of you," she chuckled after a long moment.  "What does that say about their judgment?"

_"__Nothing good."_

"Exactly."  Leia leaned into the wind.  "I'm going to get him back, whatever it takes." 

_"__And you will succeed.  Of that I have no doubt."_

"You will always have a piece of my heart," she said quietly.  

_"__And you mine,"_ the voice said softly in return.    

"I will never forget you."

The voice smiled.  _"__Han would never ask you to."_

She nodded.  "Goodbye, Jarren." 

_"Goodbye, Leia.  May the Force be with you.  Always."_  

Leia opened her eyes, pushed off from the railing, and turned around to walk toward the door to the comforting warmth of family inside.  "And also with you," she whispered back over her shoulder, out into the night.  "Always and forever."

---

Master Offee smiled warmly.  "The Council has reviewed your report.  Is there anything you wish to add?"

"No, Master," Danaé said.  She stood in the center of the circular Council chamber, her hands clasped over her belt buckle.  After a few weeks with her family, dealing with the consequences of the horrible Battle of Gimna 3, she had decided it was time to begin to restore some sense of normalcy in her life.  Accepting her responsibilities as a Jedi was first on the list.  

The golden-skinned, near-human Mirialan woman nodded.  "You faced one of the most difficult challenges a Jedi can confront, Danaé.  Each rogue Jedi is a terrible loss to the Order, and many of us have trouble taking action against our friends and colleagues – even when we know what must be done.  The duty to slay one's former Master is a terrible tragedy."

Danaé knew the Council's new chairwoman spoke for all of them.  It was surreal to see Master Offee seated directly in front of her.  It seemed as if Master Kenobi had been there forever, and now he was gone.  There was an empty seat behind Danaé, the one closest to the chamber's wide door, that soon would be filled by a deserving Master.  And off her left shoulder was her father's empty chair.  When he would return to the Council she did not know.  "Thank you, Master," she said.  "At the time I had no real opportunity to comprehend it.  Everything happened so quickly.  I have meditated on those events considerably, and I do not regret my actions."

"As well you should not, Danaé," said Master Secura from just behind her left shoulder.  "We have no doubt that he would have kept his word – if you had not joined him, he would have killed you."

Danaé nodded.  

"Oga Trill was my friend," Master Secura continued.  "He was a friend to all of us.  Of course his loss falls most greatly on you, but we all mourn him.  Never doubt that we grieve with you."

"Thank you, Master," Danaé said.  

"Difficult as it may be," Master Offee said gently, "you should be proud of what you have done.  Over the centuries many Jedi have been unable to perform their duties as you have.  Your achievement is a significant one."

Danaé tried her best to smile.  "I know, Master.  In time I am sure I will accept it."  She took a deep breath and let her hands fall to her sides.  "I am ready for my next assignment.  I will report to Master Windu when we are finished here." 

Master Offee laughed lightly.  "That will not be necessary."

"I'm sorry, Master?"

"That will not be necessary.  You may report directly to the Council for future assignments."  

Danaé furrowed her brow.  "I don't understand, Master."

Master Offee shook her head in bemusement.  "Danaé Skywalker, you are a Jedi Knight." 

Danaé gasped.  

"The Council congratulates you," Master Offee said, spreading her hands to indicate her colleagues.  

"Thank you, Master," Danaé finally managed to say.  Before she could stop herself, she thought it: _I__ don't deserve this.  I'm not ready._  But in the next moment she brushed the doubt aside.  Corellia.  Dagobah.  Gimna 3.  She had undergone her Trials.  She had confronted not only her lost Master, but also her own greatest weaknesses.  And she had prevailed.  She took a slow, deep breath.  _I deserve this,_ she thought proudly.  _I deserve this._

"Master Trill – our friend, your mentor – would be proud, Danaé," Master Offee said sadly.  "Your triumph honors the memory of the good man lost to us.  Your success is his as well."  

Danaé smiled, accepting the somber truth.  She squared her shoulders.  "What is the Council's wish for me, Master?"

"For the time being, the Council believes the most appropriate assignment is for you to continue to serve on the Supreme Chancellor's security team."  Master Offee met her gaze.  "If you would prefer a different mission, the Council will honor your request."

_Mom!_  Inside Danaé burst with happiness and surprise – so much so that she winked at Master Offee.  She winked.  She actually winked at the chairwoman of the Jedi Council!  She hadn't even understood why she had done it until the words left her mouth.  "That will not be necessary."

Master Offee laughed.  "Very well.  The assignment is approved."

"Thank you, Master."

"That is all for now," Master Offee said.  "May the Force be with you, Danaé Skywalker – Jedi Knight."

---

Master Offee leaned forward, braced her elbows on her knees, and interlinked her fingers.  "The Council has reviewed your report.  Is there anything you wish to add?"

Luke swallowed hard.  He'd included everything – everything except the physical and emotional bond he and Mara had formed.  The bond he'd tried to push into the background.  The bond that was always in his thoughts, no matter how much he fought to avoid it.  The bond through which he still could feel Mara's pain – anger – at his request that they not seek the approval of the Council for an attachment.  All this he had omitted from his report.  But if Mara had included it in hers…  Then this would be his only chance to avoid a severe penalty for intentionally misleading the Jedi Council.  "No, Master," he said.  

"Very well, Luke," replied Master Offee calmly.  

Luke suppressed his sigh of relief.  Apparently Mara had followed his request.  "I will not stand the Trials at this time," he said.  It should have been a question, but he knew the answer was a foregone conclusion.  

"That is correct," Master Offee nodded as she sat up straight again.  "The Council further believes that it would be wise to remove you from assignments in the war for now."

"I accept your judgment, Master."

"You will continue your rehabilitation with your cybernetic hand, as well as meditate on your actions on Tatooine and Gimna 3."  Master Offee looked closely into his eyes.  "You have exceptional skills, Luke.  On talent alone you are more than ready to advance.  You should understand that we do not believe it will be long before you are ready to stand the Trials."

Luke closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and nodded.  "I have paid a high price for my failures, Master," he said quietly.  "A price I never want to pay again."

"Then you will soon be ready, and you will succeed."  

"Yes, Master.  I won't let you down."  

"We are confident you will not," Master Offee said.  "You will be assigned to a new Master.  The Council will consider your wishes, if you have a preference."

Luke shook his head.  "No one could replace Master Kenobi.  I defer to the Council's wisdom."

Master Offee glanced briefly around the circle of her colleagues.  "A close friend of your father's has offered to assist.  The Council will assign you to train with Master Windu."

Luke blinked.  

Master Offee waited patiently.  

He blinked again.  Then the realization hit him like a punch in the gut – Danaé had been Knighted.  No wonder she hadn't made eye contact with him when they'd passed in the antechamber.  "Master Windu deserves his retirement," he finally said.  "I am sure there are many things he would rather do than clean up the messy lives of the Skywalker children."  

Master Offee only smiled at his self-deprecation.  "And I am sure Master Windu is a fine judge of how best to spend his time, don't you think?" 

He nodded, chagrined.  "Of course, Master.  I would be honored to train with Master Windu." 

"Very well," Master Offee said.  "It is done.  May the Force be with you, Luke."

Luke bowed respectfully, then departed the Council chamber and headed toward the Room of a Thousand Fountains to meditate.  He pledged a silent vow to focus exclusively on preparing for the Trials.  His failures had cost Master Obi-Wan his life – and the shameful truth that his idol would never see him Knighted tore at his soul with a pain far greater than the severing of his hand.  And Danaé had been Knighted before him.  His younger sister was a better Jedi than he.  It would be the talk of the Temple.  The disgraceful feeling made him want to retch.  

He was a complete failure – a complete disappointment.  

His Trials took precedence now.  He owed Master Obi-Wan – and himself – that much.  Only after that would he resolve his feelings for Mara.

---

Master Offee rested her hands on the sides of her chair.  "The Council has reviewed your report.  Is there anything you wish to add?"

Mara scowled.  _You mean besides the fact that right now I'm ready to kill Luke Skywalker?_  She clenched her fists at her sides and took a deep breath.  "No, Master."  

"Very well, Mara," Master Offee said. 

Before the Council's new chairwoman could continue, Mara spoke.  Despite her best efforts her voice conveyed far more of her simmering ire than was advisable.  "Will I be removed from war assignments?"

"For the immediate future, yes."

"Why?"

"The Council believes it is in your best interest that your emotional well-being first be assured," Master Offee said calmly.  "We do not anticipate a lengthy delay."

"With all due respect, Master, I'm one of the most powerful warriors in the Order," Mara hissed.  "I can make a difference on the battlefield.  I can make a difference against the Sith."

"There is no doubt of that, Padawan Jade," said Master Secura's voice from behind her left shoulder.  "But skill alone is not sufficient.  A Jedi Knight must have a serious mind – the deepest commitment to act from duty and serenity, not prejudice and passion.  Until you have learned to master your feelings, your presence at the front is not an advantage but a liability."

Mara understood the implication perfectly.  "My opportunity to stand for the Trials has been suspended as well." 

Master Offee nodded.  "It has."

"So be it, Master."

"We have confidence in you, Mara.  We believe you will soon be ready for the Trials, and to return to missions suited to your particular talents as a Jedi." 

"I see," Mara frowned.  "And who will supervise my training?"

Master Offee only raised her eyebrows.  

Mara crossed her arms over her chest.  "You can't be serious!" 

"We are," said Master Offee calmly.  "You remain Master Skywalker's apprentice."

Pinned between her elbows and her chest, Mara's fists clenched again.  "He betrayed me." 

Master Offee did not say a word.  All ten members of the Council sat silently.  

"He betrayed me!  He betrayed all of us.  Don't you see _that_?"  Mara's left hand shot out and her finger pointed at the empty chair to the side.  "_That_ is all I need to know." 

"Your lack of discretion serves you poorly," Master Secura said quietly.  "You would be wise to take a moment to regain your composure." 

Mara crossed her arms over her chest again, closed her eyes, and took several long, deep breaths.  Then she opened her eyes and glared at Master Offee.  "My wishes are to be given no consideration, Master?" 

"Your wishes were entirely clear from your report," the kind master healer said.  "They were considered.  Nevertheless the Council stands by its decision."

Mara gritted her teeth and tipped her head in the slightest of respectful acknowledgments.  

"Your pain is understandable, Mara.  Do not think we fail to understand it, for we do."  Master Offee leaned forward and rested her palms on her knees.  "Sometimes it is the Padawan's duty to help the Master." 

Mara dug her fingernails into her palms.  "I will obey the Council's instructions."

"Very well, Mara," Master Offee said.  "May the Force be with you."

After a stiff bow Mara spun on her heel and strode quickly from the Council chamber with her black cloak billowing behind her.  She ran her fingers several times through her loose red-gold hair and tucked her thumbs into her belt.  Without so much as a word to the other Jedi waiting in the antechamber she stormed into the wide, brightly lit corridor and turned in the direction of the Temple's speeder docks.  She needed to be alone, and speeding heedlessly through the crowded skies of Coruscant seemed like just the right therapy for her mood.  

Keeping her eyes on the floor, she snorted in disbelief at the Council's decision.  _You'll regret this,_ she growled in her thoughts.  The Council.  Her Master.  Luke.  _You will all regret this._

---

Anakin's gaze briefly lifted to examine the dark nighttime sky beyond the wide and tall windows of the Jedi Council chamber.  He realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd stood in the center of the circle – alone, without Mara at his side.  Unconsciously his eyes drifted in the direction of the Galactic Senate complex; although the majestic domed structure wasn't visible from here, he knew exactly where it was all the same.  He took a deep breath and kept his hands where they were, clasped behind his back.  Then he lowered his gaze to his trusted old friend in the seat always given to the Council's chairperson.  

"You know why I'm here," he said as much to the other nine as to Barriss.  "I formally request that I be granted a leave of absence from my post on the Jedi Council." 

Barriss raised her eyebrows.  "I had expected you to tender your resignation."  She held his gaze intensely.  "Which I would have under no circumstances accepted." 

Anakin glanced over his left shoulder and gave a resigned smile to the blue-skinned Twi'lek.  "I had intended to do exactly that," he chuckled.  "This morning, however, Aayla made it more than clear to me that such a course of action was not an option."

"I see," Barriss laughed.  "Then let me say I am pleased you have listened to her."

"For once," teased Aayla.  

Anakin laughed too.  "I appreciate the consideration I have been given," he said seriously after a moment, "but I refuse to treat my situation lightly.  Were any other Master to do what I have done, expulsion from the Council would not even be debated."

"Perhaps," Barriss said, refusing to concede even that.  "But you are not any Master."

"I don't want special treatment," Anakin insisted, meeting the eyes of the other Council members within his range of vision.  "I cannot allow you to ignore the severity of my failure."

Barriss only shook her head.  "We have no intention of ignoring anything, Anakin."  She leaned forward, propped her elbows on her knees, and interlinked her fingers.  "You must admit," she said with a mischievous grin, "that special treatment for you is inevitable at this point." 

Anakin frowned, but he nodded.  "I suppose that's true."  

"You are the Chosen One, Anakin," said Aayla from over his shoulder.  "None of us doubts it.  And more than that, you are our friend.  We value your insights and confidences and wisdom.  None of that has changed." 

Anakin bowed his head.  "I don't deserve this."

"Yes, you do," Barriss said in a stern tone that compelled him to meet her gaze again.  "None of us is perfect.  Each of us makes mistakes – sometimes terrible ones.  We do not hold you to an unattainable standard, and hope that you do not hold yourself to one.  Nothing good can come of it."  

"My mistake was more terrible than most," he said.

"In your eyes, perhaps," Aayla said.  "But not in ours.  Oga Trill's betrayal – his concerted and premeditated attempt to lure your daughter to join him among the Sith – was far, far worse than your single moment of weakness.  In my eyes the two cannot even be compared.  Yours I can forgive; his I could not."  

If Anakin was certain about one thing, it was that sometimes his judgment was in error.  So despite his doubts he knew it was prudent to trust the judgment of his ten friends over his own in this instance.  He nodded.  "Very well.  I accept the Council's wishes with humility and respect."  

"I propose your leave of absence be for three months," Barriss said.  "With an opportunity for you to seek an extension, should you desire it."

"I agree to the proposal," Anakin replied calmly.  "I will of course keep the Council apprised of my intentions."

"Of course," Barriss nodded.  "Now, in the meantime we must fill one seat with a permanent member, and one seat with a temporary appointment.  The Council would appreciate your opinion, Anakin."

Anakin scowled.  "It's not appropriate for me to…"

"Your opinion, Master Skywalker," snapped Aayla with false displeasure, "has been requested by the Council."

Anakin flashed her a bemused smirk.  "There are many worthy candidates.  I suppose my favored choice would be Master Brith.  His judgment is impeccable, and it's time we begin to include some younger Jedi among the Council's number."  He paused for a moment, his eyes watching a speeder zip past outside.  "As for the temporary post… Why not Valin Halcyon?" 

Barriss' eyes widened in surprise.  "A Corellian?  That certainly would liven things up in here."

"A pleasant side effect," Anakin grinned.  "Mostly I was thinking of my own interests."

"Ah, yes, of course," Aayla laughed.  "Married.  Children.  Starpilot.  Swordsman.  Maverick."

"There aren't many of us," Anakin laughed.  "We look out for one another."

"Thank you for your thoughts, Anakin.  We will consider them."  Barriss shook her head and whistled in disbelief.  "Only you would propose Valin Halcyon."

"I'd propose Qui-Gon Jinn if I could," Anakin winked.  "You lucked out."

The hearty laughter of the eleven Masters was most refreshing to all of them.  

---

Padmé strode quickly through the nearly empty corridor of the Senate building.  Outside the wide windows she could see it was well past sundown.  Her mind-numbingly long day of meetings finally was over, and she was headed back to the office to issue a last batch of authorizations before she could go home.  She knew that by now Anakin would have begun his audience with the Jedi Council, and she wondered how it was going.  Quickly she squelched the thought – she would see him soon enough.  First she had to finish the tasks at hand.  

From her side she heard a voice.  "You look tired," Sabé said.  "Are you tired?"

"You need more sleep," said Jenny's voice from the other side.  "Are you getting enough sleep?"

Padmé shook her hands over her head in frustration.  "Of course I'm tired!  Of course I'm not getting enough sleep!  I'm here from before dawn until after dusk.  And I don't sleep through these meetings, as much as I wish I could."

Sabé gently put a hand on her arm.  "Shh.  It's okay."

"It's not okay," Padmé barked more angrily than she had intended.  "This is insane!"

Jenny put a hand on her other arm.  "What's insane?"

Idly Padmé suspected she was being led along like an intransigent child.  "We didn't have enough staff when I was just Senator-at-Large.  Now I'm Chancellor, and we haven't had any time to hire more personal staff.  It's been weeks.  Weeks!  Not that I don't trust the career staff; I do.  They're remarkable.  But I need more personal staff." 

"We know," said Jenny reassuringly.  "We're working on it."

"When?"  Padmé tried in vain to keep her voice from increasing in pitch as they continued to walk along at a brisk pace.  "When could you _possibly_ have the time to work on it?" 

"Here and there," Jenny replied evasively.  

"Just the other day we met with over a dozen candidates," Sabé said.  "Very promising young men and women.  Recommended by people we trust."

Momentarily mollified, Padmé took a deep breath.  "By whom?"

"Bail Organa.  Beru Lars.  Mon Mothma."  Sabé was grinning triumphantly.  "And Errol and Allimé from the University of Naboo referred me to several recent graduates."  

Padmé sighed.  She knew when she was beaten.  "And how did the interviews go?"

"They went very well," Jenny smiled warmly.  "We've already invited several of them back for another round of interviews."  

Padmé raised her eyebrows.  "And when do I get to participate in the process?"

Sabé and Jenny glanced at each other conspiratorially.  "Whenever you'd like, of course," said Sabé with a perfectly straight face.  

"Likely story," Padmé scoffed.  By now they had reached the Supreme Chancellor's chambers – she still could not bring herself to think of it as _her_ office – and continued on their way toward the main ceremonial office in the rear.  Still pondering the conversation, Padmé strode through the open door.

And stopped in her tracks just inside the portal.  

Standing in the center of the room three women in matching azure dresses and cloaks were facing her.  In unison they drew down their hoods.  

Luscious long blonde curls framed a beautiful face bearing a wicked grin and devious blue eyes.  

Deep brown eyes twinkled in delight beneath a proper bun of brown hair held in place by three long pins.  

The third had to brush her shoulder-length brown hair from her face to expose a sly wink of brown eyes.  

Again in unison they bowed formally and greeted her.  "It is our pleasure to serve you, Your Excellency."

Padmé gasped.  "Saché.  Dormé.  Rabé.  What are you doing here?"  
  


Her three dear friends only grinned.  

Padmé glanced at Jenny, who smiled meekly and pointed a finger at the obvious culprit.  Padmé propped her hands on her hips and spun to face Sabé.  

Sabé's grin was even broader than the three former handmaidens' – which shouldn't have been possible.  

Padmé cleared her throat and maintained the glare.  

"I guess I forgot to mention," Sabé smirked, "that I called in reinforcements."

---

Anakin swerved his speeder through the narrow opening of the residence's private, secured docking bay and spun the nose around to face outward.  Already loosening the restraints with one hand, he feathered the repulsors to a perfect landing beside the _Lady__ Vader_.  As the massive blast doors clanged closed and plunged the gigantic chamber into nearly total darkness, he vaulted over the side of the open-topped speeder and landed cleanly on his feet.  In his peripheral vision he saw a figure emerge from the shadows near the entrance to the turbolift.  

Apparently she heard his stuttering footfalls and startled gasp.  

"You weren't expecting me?" Padmé asked.  

"I figured you were still at the office," he said truthfully.  He'd scanned for danger, of course, but not for her Force signature.  So he deserved to be surprised.  

She closed the distance between them and joined him next to the speeder, where he still stood trying to slow his heartbeat.  In the faint lights he barely could see her face, her slim flightsuit, and the single plait holding back her long brown hair.  "Well, I'm not," she said.  

He reached out and caressed her shoulders.  "Angel?"

In her playful smile he saw that she clearly could read the confusion in his voice about her attire.  "Do you remember when we first were married," she asked, "how we used to just fly around at night and talk?" 

"Of course I do."

"Why did we stop doing that?"

He thought about it for a moment, and shrugged.  "I don't know."

"I think we should do that again.  I think it would be good for us."  She took his hands in hers.  "I think we need to make as much time to talk as we can."

"I'd like that," he said.  With sudden swiftness he grabbed her by the waist and spun her up and around into the front passenger seat of his speeder, then in one seamless motion hopped into the pilot's seat next to her.  As he began to activate the speeder again he glanced over at her.  "Wait a second."

"What?"

"I don't remember when we stopped doing this, but I do remember when we started."  He winked at her.  "You're not pregnant with twins again, are you?" 

"Shut up, Ani," she laughed, and slugged him in the arm.  

Soon they soared through the nighttime skies of Coruscant at high speed, avoiding the sedate lanes of airspeeder traffic in favor of their own private tour of the maze of passages between the towering skyscrapers.  

As she always had in the past, Padmé waited until she was sure he was comfortably letting the Force guide his flight before she spoke.  "You're sure you're not upset about the Regal Prerogative?"

Anakin met her nervous gaze and smiled.  "I'm not.  I promise."

She reached over and put a hand on his knee.  "You'd prefer if I were Chancellor Skywalker, though."

He shrugged.  "Sure.  But I'd prefer Millius were still alive so you didn't have to be Chancellor at all.  I know this isn't what you wanted."

"It's not," she said sadly.  "But I had no choice."

"Exactly," he said.  "You did what was necessary."  

"I'm worried about the war."

"So am I."  For what must have been at least an hour, maybe more, they discussed the myriad of issues Chancellor Amidala faced in the coming days and months in the war against Argis' Vyhrragian legions.  When they seemed to have exhausted everything Padmé wanted to talk about, Anakin took a deep breath and told her something he knew she wasn't expecting.  "I've decided to stay out of the action for good.  I'll serve on the Council when I'm ready, but I'll leave the missions at the front to others.  I'll stay here with you, and keep you safe, and I'll just have to accept that the children can take care of themselves.  Trying to do everything – trying to do too much – is what got me into trouble.  I trust in the Force.  Whatever fate brings to us is the will of the Force."  

"That will be very difficult for you," she said.  "Letting others take action while you stay behind."

"I know," he conceded.  "It will be.  But I've meditated about this a lot, and it's for the best.  Plus, it gives me more time with you, and I know you'll need all the support from me you can get."

"You have no idea," she sighed in consternation.  Then she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.  "There are so many unreasonable expectations, in the Senate and among the citizens.  Argis is entrenched in his sector.  There are almost six years of his conquests that have to be reversed.  We're not going to win overnight."

He kissed the top of her head.  "We are going to win."  

"Yes.  But the cost…"

Anakin swallowed the lump in his throat.  "Obi-Wan's life, already." 

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, not only to comfort him but also to ward off the chill of the air.  "I know.  I'm so sorry."

He blinked back his tears.  Two of the three most important individuals in his life were gone now – his mother and Obi-Wan.  If he lost Padmé too…  He shuddered involuntarily.  

Without words she knew what he was thinking; they both remembered the haunting nightmare only a few weeks earlier – and yet an eternity ago.  "You won't fail again," she finally said softly over the thrumming of the speeder's drives and the howling of the wind.  

"I can't afford to," he nodded into her soft curls.  "I couldn't live with myself if Bryon had died… because I…"

"Shh," she whispered.  "It's okay."

"Do you think Mara will ever trust me again?"  

"Yes.  I know she will."  Padmé burrowed her hand inside his robes and rested her palm on his bare chest over his heart.  "She loves you as much as Luke or Leia or Danaé or Bryon loves you.  She's hurting now – I can't deny that.  But she'll forgive you in time.  She'll come to understand, and then she'll forgive you."  

"Do you trust me?"  

"I'm still hurting.  But I understand.  And I've forgiven you."  Her hand slid out from beneath his robes to rest against the side of his face.  "I love you, Ani.  I have always loved you and I will always love you.  I trust you with my life, my body, and my soul."

"I won't let you down, angel, I promise."  He kissed her warm palm.  "Knowing that I'd failed you… it was… it was the worst feeling in my entire life.  I love you, Padmé.  I'm nothing without you." 

For a few minutes they didn't speak as he flew them on a path that gradually would bring them home again.  He thought she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder when he heard her voice. 

"I will never lose faith in you, Ani," she murmured.  "The Force is with you."

"With us, angel," he whispered as he sensed her finally nodding off.  "The Force is with us."

THE END****

_Coming Soon:_

_Six "Missing Scenes" from Hope and Darkness with Author's Commentary._

_Followed by the conclusion of the trilogy:_ **EPISODE VI: THE PATHS OF FATE**


	18. Missing Scenes 1 to 3

**************

**Hope and Darkness**** Missing Scene # 1: Son of Vader (Chapter 6)**

_Author's Commentary:  The false alarm at the Senate was a short scene designed to continue to bring Bryon's dark side to the fore as the story progressed.  I kept the interrogation itself "offscreen" because I wanted to reveal Bryon's actions only in Kessa's confession to Sarré in chapter 11.  That way the revelation would be as shocking to the readers as it is to Sarré.  The interrogation does make a good Missing Scene, though._

After he snapped his blaster rifle into the gun rack on the corridor wall, Bryon paused outside the closed door of Detention Cell 23 in the depths of the Galactic Senate building.  He was tired.  He was frustrated.  And now he was angry.  Really angry.  

The Kuatis had caused needless panic at the Senate, wasted the time of the Special Forces and the Senate's guards, and prevented him from monitoring shift changes as he'd planned.  He'd already been having a bad day before this.  Now the day was downright terrible.  The Kuati in the room had better hope he had a very, very, very good explanation for his subordinates' actions.  

"Sir?"

Bryon looked down at Kessa.  "Yes?"

"Do you need anything, sir?"

Bryon took a deep breath.  "No.  Thank you."

"Okay, sir," Kessa nodded reluctantly.  "Let's see… His name is…"

"I don't care what his name is," Bryon cut her off sharply.  With that he tapped in the access code, waited for the door to swish upward, and strode into the cell.  Kessa followed him inside and the door swished down again with a decisive metallic clang.

Seated on a chair at a small table was a pale, middle-aged man, shorter in stature and thinner than Luke.  The man's hands were fidgeting on the tabletop and the sweat on his brow glistened in the light from the single glowdisc on the ceiling.  He wore the elegant – if not ostentatious – attire favored on his wealthy, aristocratic world.  Just looking at the pompous, self-important bootlicker made Bryon ever angrier.  Especially those eyes.

The man was hiding something.  He was definitely hiding something. 

Bryon stood across the small table and towered over the prisoner.  "You are the chief of security for the Kuati delegation, correct?"

"Yes," the man said.  "My name is…"

"I didn't ask for your name," Bryon barked. 

"But I am…"

"I have no interest in your name!"  Bryon slammed his palms to the table, his shimmering obsidian-black battle armor rattling noticeably.  "You will answer the questions I ask and only the questions I ask.  Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," the man gulped.  

"The three men with concealed blasters.  They report to you?"

"Yes."

"Did you know about the weapons?"

"Yes."

Bryon leaned forward a little, bracing himself upright on his arms from where his palms still were planted on the table.  "Did the Senator?"

"No."

"She will be questioned, and we have ways of ensuring she will tell the truth.  Are you certain of your answer?"

"I am," the man said.  "The Senator was unaware of my decision."

"So you proceeded without notifying her?"

"That's right."

Bryon leaned forward more.  "And you knew the blasters were not permitted in the Senate facility without proper authorization from the security forces?"

"I did."

"Yet you did not seek any authorization?"

The man swallowed hard.  "No."

"Why not?"

"I'd rather not say."

Bryon chuckled derisively.  "You'd rather not say?"

"No."

"Requests for additional security are approved all the time," Bryon said grimly.  "It's routine, even when Senators seek permission for several armed bodyguards.  What possible reason could you have for not following procedure like your peers in other delegations?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," the man persisted.  

In a flash Bryon surged around the table, seized the man by the shoulders, yanked him out of the chair, and flung him against the wall.  Before the man could react Bryon's armored left forearm slammed into his chest and pinned him to the wall.  "You're not at liberty right now," Bryon bellowed.  "Answer the question."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't."

Bryon frowned.  "Answer.  The question."

"I'm sorry.  I can't."

"I've had enough of your games," Bryon roared.  His right hand gripped the man by the throat and lifted him off his feet.  With his black-gloved fingers clenching tightly Bryon brought his face within centimeters of the man's frightened visage.  "Why didn't you request authorization for the blasters?"

"We had… information… of a threat… to the Senator."

"Do you take me for a fool?" 

"Of course not… sir…"  The man was gasping for air now, but he did not dare reach up to try to remove Bryon's hand from his neck.  

"I know why you had the blasters," Bryon spat.  "I want to know why you kept them secret."

"We couldn't… risk it…"  The man gulped for breath.  "Might… tip off… the assassins…"

Bryon released his hand and let the man drop to the floor again.  "You were concerned there might be a leak in the Senate security forces, is that it?"

The man was doubled over, breathing heavily.  "Yes… wanted them… to think we'd be… unarmed here."

"So if you were attacked you would have an advantage."

"Yes."

It made sense.  Bryon might have done the same thing – _if_ the concern about the leak was legitimate.  That was the lynchpin of the entire explanation.  "The likelihood of a leak is very small.  Who poses such a threat to the Senator that you cannot trust Senate security?" 

The man frowned.  "I'd rather not say."

That was it.  Clearly the man had learned nothing.  "_Tell me now!_"

"I'm sorry.  I think it's best if I…"

The man didn't get out any more words.  Bryon's left hand snatched the man's right wrist and drew it up into the man's face.  Then Bryon's right hand closed around the man's fingers.  

And crushed them until he heard the bones snapping.  

The man screamed in agony.  

Bryon released his hold.  "Who poses the threat?"

"Black Sun," the man said, cradling the devastated hand in the other.  

"The crime syndicate?"

"Yes."

Bryon scowled.  A security leak to Black Sun was unlikely – but not impossible.  As much trouble as it had caused, he couldn't really fault the Senator's chief of security for his decision.  "The Senator knows about this threat?"

"She does."

He paused for a moment.  "Is the threat because of her personal dealings with Black Sun?"

The man clearly was about to refuse to answer before he glanced down at his crushed fingers – and thought better of it.  "Yes."

"Then I suggest you prepare to find other employment," Bryon said.  "The Senator will be safe enough inside these walls.  Outside them, though, she's as good as dead.  You and your people are horribly outmatched."

The man only nodded, his jaw clenched shut to bite back the pain.  

"I will need your cooperation in preparing the incident report.  When it is completed you will be released.  Under the circumstances I will order that the report remain classified."  Without waiting for a response Bryon turned his back on the prisoner and headed for the door.  "Signal for a medic," he told Kessa.  "We're finished here."

**********

**Hope and Darkness**** Missing Scene # 2: Green-Eyed Jealousy (Chapter 10)**

_Author's Commentary:  The brief cameo by Callista was included only to instigate negative reactions from the readers.  A longer conversation, or a full-blown "catfight" with Mara, or even killing her off in the battle, would have given Callista a greater role than was warranted in the overall story.  But increasing her "screen time" just a little was a fun Missing Scene to write._

"May the Force be with you, Corran," Luke said as his friend departed.  With the mission briefing concluded the Jedi apprentices were heading off to rejoin their Masters and prepare for the evacuation operation on Gimna 3.  Luke was about to look for Master Obi-Wan when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  

"Hey, Luke," the soft voice said.  

Luke turned around and smiled.  "Hey, Callista.  It's nice to see you."

There was a concerned look in her gray eyes.  "It's nice to see you too.  Are you okay?"

Luke frowned.  "I've been better."

"What's wrong?"  Callista released his shoulder and took his hand instead.  "I thought I'd heard that your mission at Corellia went well."

"It did," he said.  "Things went badly after that."

Callista squeezed his hand.  "What happened?"

Luke took a slow, deep breath.  "You'll hear about it soon enough."

She flinched.  "Oh."

"I'm sorry," he said, squeezing her hand back.  "It's just that until the Council's made a decision I don't think we're supposed to talk about it with anyone."

Her eyes widened.  "That bad?"

"Yeah.  Unfortunately."

The corners of her mouth curled in contemplation.  "Wait…  Someone died, didn't they?"

Luke swallowed hard.  It was one thing to conceal the truth; it was another thing to lie.  And he knew her well enough to know she'd understand not to ask anything more.  "Yes."

"Oh, Luke, I'm so sorry," Callista whispered.  She reached out, pulling him into a tight embrace and resting her head on his shoulder.  "I'm so sorry."

"I know," he whispered back.  

"Are you okay for the mission?"

Luke shrugged in her arms.  "I'll have to be."

"Take care of yourself, Luke," she said.  "Be careful.  Be safe."

"I will," he promised.  

"You know I'll always be here for you," she told him as she pulled him more tightly against her body.  "When this is over, if you need anything you can come to me.  Anything at all."

The meaning of her words was not lost on him.  "Thanks," he nodded.  "I appreciate the offer."

Callista released him and took a step back.  "I have to go."

"Me too."

"May the Force be with you."

"And also with you."  Luke watched her walk away through the crowd.  Then he turned around to go find Master Obi-Wan and get ready for the mission.

And came face-to-face with Mara.  

Her green eyes were blazing with a quiet fury that made him shiver.  

"What?"  He tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling building in his gut.  

"What did _she_ want?"  Mara's voice was as cold as a polar wind.  

"Nothing, really."  Luke shrugged.  "She just wanted to be sure I was okay."

"Why?"

The hair on the back of Luke's neck stood up.  "She was looking out for a friend."

Mara's eyes narrowed.  "She's not just any friend to you, though, is she?"

"I suppose not," he conceded.  

"Right," she muttered, moving to turn away.  

Luke put his hand on her arm and spun her back to face him.  "What's this about, Mara?"

"Tell me the truth," she said.

"The truth is that Callista is my friend."

"That's all?"

He nodded.  "That's all."

"Good," she spat.

Luke had the distinct impression Mara was jealous of Callista.  Very jealous, in fact.  He and Mara still hadn't had the time to talk about what had happened between them on Tatooine – to talk about the feelings they had sensed clearly enough in the Force but had been too scared to speak aloud.  And then Luke realized his hand was still holding Mara's arm.  He squeezed it reassuringly.  "Are we okay – you and me?"

"Yeah," Mara said.  "We are."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah.  I'm sure."

Luke released his grasp and scanned the room.  "We should find our Masters.  I'm sure they're looking for us by now."

"Probably," Mara said, her eyes gazing around the auditorium as well.  "There they are," she indicated with a tip of her head.  

"I see them," Luke nodded.  "Let's go."  

"Luke, one more thing."

"What's that?"

"If you ever lie to me, I'll kill you."

**********

**Hope and Darkness**** Missing Scene # 3: Awareness (Chapter 14)**

_Author's Commentary:  This was a scene that I initially had planned to include in the main body of the story, but once I wrote chapters 14 and 15 I realized it distracted from the other, more important issues in those scenes.  This scene is nice – but it isn't necessary to move the story forward.  So it ends up as a Missing Scene – and became a scene in first-person point-of-view, unlike the rest of the story._

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Sound.  

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Sound in my ears. 

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Sound.  Joyous sound.

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

I'm alive. 

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Hearing sound means I'm alive. 

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Right?

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Yes.  Sensation is back too.  

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Wet.  All over.

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Bacta.

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Pain.  Dull.  Thick.  All over.

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

My chest, mostly.  Numb.

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Different.  Heavy.  Strange. 

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

I was shot.  In the chest.  Badly.  

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Bacta.  Numb.  Surgery?  What else?  Surgery, then.  Lots of it. 

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

A voice.  Soft.  Gentle.  "Are you awake?"

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Her voice.  Her.  She's here.  She's here!

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Her voice again.  "If you're awake, try to open your eyes.  I'm here.  You'll see me if you open your eyes."

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Up.  Up.  Go up.  I said go up!  Now!  Do it!

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

It's her.  It's her!  She's really here! 

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

She's crying.  Don't cry.  Please don't cry.  

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Her lavender eyes.  "Can you really hear me?"  

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Her hand against the tank.  "One for yes, two for no."

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Blink.  

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Her smile.  Just a little.  "You'll understand, I know you will.  Was that a muscle reflex?"

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

A test.  To be sure.  Good.  She's so smart!

Blink.  Blink.  

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Don't cry.  Please don't cry.  

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Her beautiful lavender eyes.  "Do you know where you are?"

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Blink.

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Her smile.  Just a little.  "Did you know you're back on Coruscant now?"

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Still testing.  Good.  Needs to be sure.  We both do. 

Blink.  Blink.

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Hand off the tank.  "Bryon?"  Hand on her belly.  "Do you remember what I told you?"

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

My baby.  Her baby.  Our baby.  

Blink.

_wooooooooooo__ – pfssssssssssssssssssssss_

_Beep._

Don't cry, Sarré.  Please don't cry.  

**********


	19. Missing Scenes 4 to 6

**********

**Hope and Darkness**** Missing Scene # 4: Sins of the Father (Chapter 15)**

_Author's Commentary:  Anakin's banishment was a temporary consequence of Padmé's anger and pain at his failure.  I initially thought about expanding on the various characters' reactions to his exile, but as I wrote the resolution of the story I decided that only one set of scenes (Chapter 15, Part 1) was necessary to convey the significance of the event without overplaying it.  The crisis makes a good Missing Scene, though_.

The soft light of early morning streaming in the windows and warming Leia's face did nothing to improve the somber mood in the kitchen as the three siblings ate a listless breakfast.  Somehow Bryon had convinced Sarré to stay in bed and get some more rest, and Mara apparently was sleeping in too.  Leia had just taken a bite of her pastry when she heard the footsteps and looked up to see Luke pace lethargically through the open doorway.  She narrowed her eyes a little and tilted her head, knowing he'd understand what she was asking. 

He shook his head almost imperceptibly as he sat down next to her.  

_Later, then_, Leia thought.  Apparently he didn't want to discuss last night's conversation with Mara in front of the others.  "We were talking about Mom," she told him.  "And Daddy too, obviously.  Just trying to figure out what's going to happen now."

"I didn't talk to Dad yesterday, or Mom except at dinner," Luke said in a flat, defeated voice as he lifted the large pitcher to pour himself a glass of shuura fruit juice.  "Did any of you?"

"No," Danaé answered from her seat across from Leia at the small table.  "She was at the Senate all day.  I talked to Daddy, but he only wanted to find out how Bryon was doing and wouldn't talk more."

"Mom checked on me last night before she went to bed," Bryon offered.  "I tried to talk to her but it didn't work.  She doesn't seem ready yet."

"She doesn't," Leia agreed.  After Luke picked up a pastry from the plate in the middle of the table and took a bite, she reached out and took his free hand.  She squeezed it reassuringly, and he squeezed back dully.  "I haven't seen her this way in… I don't know.  Years.  Maybe ever."

"Yeah," Bryon said, his voice full of exhaustion.  "And I can't…"

When he didn't continue after a long moment, Leia glanced over at him.  "You can't what?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," her little brother said, "but I guess I just can't understand why she's so upset.  I mean, I can understand her being angry.  Obviously.  But to do this…"  He took a deep breath and sighed.  "It's the soldier in me, I suppose.  He killed the enemy in battle.  That was his mission.  Maybe he should've used a different means – I'll even concede that.  But it's not like he's gone over to the dark side or something.  How is throwing him out of the house going to help anything?  It'll just hurt Dad more, and hurt Mom more too.  It just makes everything worse."

"I understand what you mean," Danaé said.  "And you're right to a point.  Daddy didn't do anything like what Oga did.  He hasn't become evil.  That's a big difference, and it matters a lot."

Bryon nodded.  "I know I don't understand the Force, and especially the dark side, the way you do.  I know that.  Maybe that's why I can't understand why Mom's so angry."

"I thought of something else last night, actually," Danaé said.  "I think it's because she remembers what Daddy was like all those years ago when he was using the dark side – when he came so close to falling.  She remembers how his actions, and that power, clouded her judgment – don't forget, she was right there with him for all of that.  And I think she's terrified it could happen again.  Not just to him, but to her too."

Leia furrowed her brow and glanced quickly at Luke, who was lost in contemplation.  "How?  Daddy wouldn't do that again.  His willpower is too strong."

"I think so too," Danaé said.  "But Mom's scared.  Really scared.  See… What you have to understand is how the dark side affects someone.  Oga… When I fought Oga… He wasn't there.  I mean, it was his body and his voice and his saber techniques and all of it.  But it wasn't him – not inside.  It was like I didn't know him any more.  He was a totally different person." 

"Master… Master Obi-Wan…"  Luke paused and swallowed hard, and Leia quickly squeezed his hand to comfort him.  "He always said that when Dad was affected by the dark side back then… It hurt him so much to remember… He said… that Dad started to become someone different.  His personality, and his values and choices – his moral compass.  I think Mom's afraid… that Dad could get that way again."

"Exactly," Danaé affirmed.  "She doesn't want that to ever happen again – and now she's afraid it could."

"But this time he knows better," Leia insisted.  "He's sorry.  He's apologized.  His remorse is written all over his face.  He knows what he did was wrong – really wrong."

"Of course," Danaé said.  "But Mom's still too angry and hurt to see it.  She's afraid that when she looks at him she's in denial.  That he's already changed – that the darkness has affected who he is – and she's not letting herself see it.  She's afraid she's blind, and of all the terrible things that could happen if she is."

"I see what you're saying," Leia said.  "But how could she think that?  She knows Daddy too well to be blind."

"Does she?"  Bryon's tired voice was so hushed it was almost inaudible.  

Leia glanced over in surprise.  "Bryon?"

"I hadn't thought about it this way until now," he said, looking at Danaé.  "Until what you said.  See… the thing is… You guys see me when I'm home, and when I'm with Sarré.  You see me this way.  You don't see how I am out in the field.  In battle with my men.  When I'm in commander mode it's like I'm a different person.  A totally different person."

Leia saw his eyes welling up.  "It's okay," she whispered.  "It's okay."

"No," Bryon said as a few tears ran down his cheeks.  "It's not okay.  You don't… You don't get it.  At the Senate… I did…"  He took a drink from his glass and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.  "Look, I'll tell you the details some other time.  For now let's just say I did something I really shouldn't have done.  And when Sarré found out, she couldn't believe it.  She knew it was true, but she couldn't believe it.  She thought I wasn't capable of something like that.  And I wasn't – not the Bryon I am when I'm around her.  But when I'm not with her… I… I have problems.  Problems she's going to help me with, now that she finally knows the truth.  Now that I've finally stopped hiding from myself."

Danaé reached out a hand to rub his shoulder.  "We'll all help you, Bryon.  We all will."

"I know," he rasped.  "So that's why I know what Mom's afraid of, you see?  I'm one man with Sarré, and another in the field.  And maybe Dad could be too…  It's not impossible.  And maybe that's what's scaring her."

"That makes sense," Leia said.  "It makes a lot of sense.  But I still think Daddy's stronger than that.  He's too strong to fall to the dark side.  Mom believes that.  I know she does."

Luke squeezed her hand just before he spoke.  "It's more complicated than that," he said gravely.  "Even the strongest person has weaknesses."

Danaé nodded.  "And we're Daddy's."

"Exactly."  Luke took a quick drink from his glass.  "When I was fighting the Sith Master, I wanted to kill her.  I really wanted to kill her.  She said she was going to turn Danaé to the dark side.  Or me.  Or Dad.  Or all of us.  And I got so angry… I just… I hated her."

Leia squeezed his hand again.  "You're only human.  We're all human."

"I know," Luke said.  "But I'm a Jedi too.  I'm supposed to be better than this.  And usually I am.  But when I got angry… and full of hate… The dark side is so tempting.  When you touch its power… it's… I can't describe it.  It's just… You feel invincible.  You feel like if you just take a bit more, you'll be unstoppable."

"And imagine what Dad felt in the Force," Bryon said.  "I was shot – he probably thought I was dead.  Leia lost Han.  Danaé killed Oga.  And Luke's hand got cut off.  Imagine all of that at once.  So much pain, and he's so far away.  He must've felt completely helpless."

"I'd want that power too," Danaé said.  "To be powerful enough to make that kind of pain go away."

"Or you'd want revenge," Luke said.  "Revenge against those who caused it."

"I would," Leia said under her breath.  She still remembered all too clearly her pain nearly two years ago.  Jarren had been assassinated, and in her sudden and soul-rending grief she'd miscarried the baby she'd just learned she was carrying.  That double loss had sent her into a downward spiral of anguish and despair that had seemed infinitely deep.  But she'd never hit bottom – because soon her grief had warped into rage.  A terrible, wrathful, burning rage at the unknown source of her loss.  If she'd found who'd killed Jarren – and her unborn daughter – she'd have executed them herself.  With her bare hands.  By inflicting all the pain and suffering she could upon them.  Feeling that way had frightened her then, and it still frightened her now to realize she was capable of such uninhibited fury.  

Leia was glad she'd managed to keep her emotions at Han's loss under control, at least by comparison.  She felt no murderous rage this time.  And she wouldn't because she wouldn't let herself be that way again.  It was truly horrible to experience, and she couldn't ever repeat it.  That kind of hate was terrifying. 

Those feelings in a Jedi… the power of the dark side…  She shivered involuntarily at the thought. 

"I'm sure Mom will change her mind," Danaé said, moving along as if she hadn't heard Leia's muttered comment.  "Once the shock finally passes."

"I'm sure she will," Leia agreed.  "She just needs some time."

"If she'll talk to me tonight, I'll see what I can do," Bryon shrugged.  "But I'm not counting on it."

"She'll forgive him," Luke said confidently, the first sign of brightness in his face since he'd joined them at the small table.  "She loves him too much."

"I just hope it's soon," Danaé frowned.  "We can't go on like this much longer.  It hurts too much for all of us."

"It'll be soon," Bryon said.  "I promise."

Leia seized the chance for a diversion, and grinned mischievously at her little brother.  "Do you want to bet on that?  Lay some odds?"

"I'd be happy to, sis," Bryon said.  A lopsided grin so much like their father's formed on his face.  "See, I've had pretty good luck with the odds lately.  If I can cheat death, I certainly think I can cheat _you_."

The four of them burst into laughter, and for just a moment everything wrong in their lives suddenly seemed a lot farther away.  

**********

**Hope and Darkness**** Missing Scene # 5: Apology Accepted (Chapter 15)**

_Author's Commentary:  Sometimes a good Missing Scene is just an expansion of a scene in the story.  I thought the Anakin/Padmé reunion in Chapter 15 accomplished everything it needed to do for the story to move on – but it's interesting to consider what might have happened after that_.

"Come home, Ani," Padmé said.  "Come home."

Anakin tried to speak, but his voice was still frozen in his throat.  He nodded once, definitively. 

She smiled a little and reached up a hand to brush her fingers along his cheek.  Then she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her blue flight suit and clasped both his hands in hers.  "Do you need to get anything before we go?"

He could feel the weight of his lightsaber handle on his belt, and that was enough for now.  Swallowing hard, he squeezed her hands.  "No."

Padmé's wet brown eyes had a hint of a sparkle.  "All of your things are at home anyway."

Anakin couldn't keep the lopsided grin from forming on his face.  "They'd better be."

She laughed – and it was a glorious sound.  "Of course they are, idiot," she said, tugging him by his hands toward the armored Senate airspeeder waiting for them a few meters away on the Jedi Temple's landing platform.  "Let's get going.  It's freezing out here."

He laughed too, and it felt great.  "As you wish, angel," he nodded, following along obediently.  

They sat down as closely as they could on the padded bench in the passenger compartment of the speeder.  As the craft rose into the air Padmé took Anakin's hand and interlinked their fingers, and she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder.  "I missed you," she whispered.  "I missed you so much."

"I know," he said, leaning his cheek on the top of her head.  "I did too.  More than I've ever missed you in my life."

She leaned up her face and kissed him on the lips – firmly, passionately, and desperately.  He responded in kind, making sure all of his overflowing happiness was expressed.  They didn't stop until they were left gasping for air and grinning like lovesick teenagers.

"Anakin?"

"Yes?"

"What I said the last time we talked," she whispered, suddenly blinking to fight back tears, "I take it all back.  I didn't mean it.  Not really.  I was just angry.  And in shock.  I said a lot of hurtful things I shouldn't have."

"Perhaps," he replied tenderly.  "But you said a lot of things that were true too."

"Ani, I…"

"Shh, angel," he insisted, cutting her off with a finger on her lips.  "I forgive you.  For whatever it is you wish you hadn't said, I forgive you.  All things considered, I think you took it rather well."

Padmé furrowed her brow.  "How do you figure that?"

Anakin shrugged.  "You didn't try to kill me."

"Ani!"

"Don't forget how easy it is for me to read your emotions, angel.  You were practically ready to strangle me with your bare hands for a while there."

She glared at him indignantly.  "I was not!"

He only raised his eyebrows and grinned.

She blew out a sigh and glowered at him.  "Stupid Jedi powers," she muttered. 

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

"Of course not, angel," Anakin chuckled.  

Padmé nestled her head on his shoulder again while they sat silently for the rest of the short ride back to the residence.  When they arrived she kept her grasp on his hand and led him to the kitchen, where she finally released him to pour them each a tall glass of ice water.  They sat down across the small table, and she reached out her left hand to take his right.  "Ani, I have more I want to apologize for."

"Don't, angel," he soothed.  "There's no need."

"I need to say it for myself," she said.  "I need to say it to you, even if you don't need me to."

He nodded. 

"I shouldn't have made you leave," she began.  "I was hurting.  A lot.  More than you've hurt me in a very long time.  But I was wrong to make you leave.  You needed me, and I needed you.  We needed to start our healing together, not apart.  It's my fault we did, and for that I'm truly, deeply sorry."

"Thank you, Padmé," he said.  "Apology accepted.  My turn?"

She nodded, and took a long drink from her glass. 

"I'm sorry I failed.  I was weak.  I knew better – I know better.  I betrayed your trust in me.  That's something I thought I would never do, but it happened."  He gazed deeply into her eyes.  "These days at the Temple, I've done nothing but meditate about everything that's happened.  I've studied it all, gone over everything in my mind, reconsidered every last little detail.  I see where I went wrong.  Why I was weak.  How I let myself lose control of my feelings.  I'm a Jedi Master.  I'm better than this – we both know that.  I'm sorry that I failed you."

"Thank you, Anakin," she said.  "Apology accepted."

"We both have a great deal of healing to do," he said quietly.  "I will do anything you ask."

"I know you will," she agreed softly.  "And I will do whatever you need."

He could see the exhaustion in her eyes and knew they'd both said enough for tonight.  And as much as he wanted to see his children, it was the middle of the night – and there'd be plenty of time for that in the morning.  "How is Bryon doing?"

"When did you talk to Danaé last?"

"The day before yesterday."

Padmé nodded.  "About the same, then.  He still sleeps most of the day.  He can stay awake for two hours or so at a time.  It's frustrating for him, but he's just so happy to be alive I think he's beginning to accept it."

"That's good," Anakin said.  "I'll be honest, angel.  I still can't believe he survived those injuries."

"I can't either," she admitted in a whisper.  "But the Force is strong in his family.  It was with him that day."

"It was," he agreed.  

She took another drink from her glass.  "The twins are struggling.  Leia's distraught over Captain Solo's capture, and Luke's obviously completely devastated about Obi-Wan.  They'll both need your help."

"Of course."  He took a drink too.  "And Danaé needs some time to process what she's been through.  I know her; I know she's been so focused on helping everyone else she hasn't taken care of herself yet."

"I'm sure you're right," she said.  "She's always been more open with you about Jedi matters."

"I'll talk to her tomorrow," Anakin said.  "I'll make sure she's started her grieving too."

"Thank you," Padmé smiled.  She rose from her chair, took his glass too, and paced over to the cleaner unit. 

Anakin stood up and walked over to her.  When she turned back around he pulled her into a firm embrace, holding her close and resting his chin on the top of her head. 

After a moment she pulled away and stretched up to kiss him tenderly on the lips.  With a little smile she took his hand and led him from the kitchen.  "Come on, Ani," she whispered.  "It's time for bed."

**********

**Hope and Darkness**** Missing Scene # 6: Panic Attack (Chapter 15)**

_Author's Commentary:  This was a scene I decided to hint at in the full story; it would have distracted from the flow to include it.  That makes it a fun Missing Scene, though_.

Cuddled in Bryon's lap on one of the sofas in the salon of the Skywalker residence, Sarré sat gazing out at the sparkling nighttime cityscape of Coruscant.  One hand held his in her lap while the other played with the short brown strands of hair on the back of his head.  "Today went well," she said.

He sighed happily and kissed her forehead.  "It did."

She kissed him back – on the lips.  "I think my father's still in shock," she laughed.  "Poor Mom, it's almost like she didn't know what to do with him."

Bryon laughed too.  "To be fair, the grandchild part was pretty unexpected."

Before Sarré could reply, a voice called out to them from the far door of the salon.  "Is now a good time?"  It was Luke.  "I saw you were still up."

"Now's fine," Bryon answered.  "Come on over and have a seat."

Sarré watched Luke walk slowly toward them.  His feet were shuffling.  His hands were fidgeting with his white shirt.  His eyes were flicking back and forth.  His frown was grim.  

He looked terrible. 

"So," Luke said, not sitting down but instead beginning to pace, "I wanted to ask you about something."

Sarré smiled warmly.  "What's that?"

Luke blushed.  "It's… something personal."

"It's okay," Bryon shrugged.  "You know all my secrets anyway."

"Most of them," Sarré teased in a mischievous voice, and grinned even broader when Luke blushed deeper and her husband blushed too.  

Luke swallowed hard as he continued to pace.  "It's about your baby.  About… um… the conception."

Sarré furrowed her brow.  She looked over at Bryon, who was equally befuddled.  "We'll do our best," she said.  "I'm not sure we really understand it ourselves, to be honest."

"That's just the thing," Luke said.  "You were… you were still on the injections, right?"

"Yes," Sarré nodded.  "Yes, I was."

Luke sighed and kept pacing.  "Leia told me you both just found out about… Mom and Dad… and Bryon … and how he was conceived."

"That's right," Bryon said.  "Leia told Sarré on the _Falcon_, and Dad told me tonight after dinner.  I don't know why he waited so long to tell me, but he did."

"Oh, I think it's pretty obvious, Bryon.  He was in denial about what his little boy was doing behind closed doors," Sarré laughed.  She looked up at Luke.  "When did he tell you?"

Luke blinked, as if he'd momentarily lost focus.  "When Leia married Jarren.  I think he told me the same day he told her.  My guess is he figured she'd tell me anyway, so I might as well hear it from him."

"Makes sense," Bryon nodded.  "Did he ever tell Danaé?"

"I don't know when," Luke said, "but he must have at some point.  She mentioned it to me about a year ago before she…"  Suddenly he stopped in place and looked away.  

This time Sarré was the one who blinked.  "Before she what?"

Bryon was staring at Luke too.  "Danaé?  Really?  I just always assumed…  Was it someone at the Temple?"

Luke was biting his lower lip when he looked back at them.  "I'm sorry, but I've already said too much."

"Oh, come on," Bryon laughed, "what'll it hurt to…"

"I'm sorry," Luke interrupted.  "Danaé would kill me for even letting that slip.  Seriously.  She'd _kill_ me."

Sarré put her fingers on Bryon's lips to silence him.  "It's okay, Luke," she said quietly.  "I don't think you came here to talk about Danaé."

"Right," Luke nodded, resuming his pacing and fidgeting.  "So… Sarré was still on the injections, but you're pregnant anyway."

"That's right," Sarré replied. 

"Okay."  Luke took a deep breath and ran his fingers through the long strands of sandy-brown hair on his forehead.  "Now… I know Dad's theory of how Bryon was conceived… And I believe him, I guess… But I'm just not sure with only the one time if we can be sure that's why it really happened."

Sarré closed her eyes for a moment to keep herself quiet.  So Leia really had been serious on the _Falcon_ when she'd said that only Anakin knew about the miscarriage.  To this day Leia still hadn't even told her twin.  "What is it that you need to know from us?"

Luke's troubled blue eyes met Bryon's.  "I need to know if your pregnancy meets Dad's theory."

"Oh, I get it," Bryon said.  "You want to know if I wished for a baby."

Sarré finally understood too.  "Or if it didn't even take that to overcome the injections."

Luke's voice suddenly seemed paralyzed and his gaze was fixed to the floor.  He only nodded. 

Sarré glanced over at Bryon to see his eyebrows raised and his jaw hanging open.  When he felt her gaze on him he glanced back and shut his mouth.  Sarré tipped her head affirmatively. 

"I wished for a baby," Bryon said softly.  "I just know Sarré is going to be such a wonderful mother, and I was just so happy right then… I wanted us to have a baby…"

"And we will," Sarré finished for him.  "So yes, Luke, it does fit with your father's theory, the way our baby was conceived on Naboo."

Luke met her eyes.  "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse and hushed.  "Thank you for being willing to tell me this.  I really needed to know."

"Of course," Bryon shrugged.  "Any time."

Sarré could see that Luke's anxiety hadn't abated much at all.  "Is something wrong, Luke?  Did you…"

"No!"  Luke's voice clearly was far more defensive than he'd intended, and he wasn't looking at them any more but instead gazing aimlessly out the window.  "No, I didn't.  No.  Not at all."

Bryon narrowed his eyes as he pondered his brother.  When he spoke, his voice was quiet and reassuring, and tentative.  "Then she's not pregnant, Luke."

"Right," Luke said almost inaudibly, still lost in his own thoughts.  "She isn't."

Sarré felt Bryon squeeze her hand, and she instantly met his gaze.  She was pretty sure this time her mouth was hanging open too.  They stared at each other, but neither of them said a word.  

"So… um… thanks," Luke said emotionlessly into the silence.  "I should go."

Sarré looked up.  "You're welcome.  We'll see you tomorrow."

Luke met her gaze, nodded once, and strode quickly from the salon.  

Bryon's voice grabbed her attention again.  "Mara?"

Sarré looked back at him.  "It has to be, doesn't it?"

"I can't imagine it's anyone else," he said.  He paused a moment, contemplating.  "There's no chance she went off the injections, is there?"

"None," she replied immediately.  "No way."

"That's good.  It seems like those two have enough issues to work out as it is."

"It does.  Too bad, really."

He flashed a resigned smile.  "It sure took them long enough to figure out they're meant for each other."

"No kidding," she laughed.  "It's about time."

"Better late than never," Bryon shrugged.  "The real question is how we're going to get the truth out of Danaé."

"Oh, I know," Sarré said excitedly, bounding up off his lap and offering him her hands.  "Who do you think it was?  Do you have any ideas?  Who was she hanging out with a year ago?"

"I do have a suspicion, actually," Bryon said conspiratorially as he pulled himself to his feet with her leverage.  "But first I need some water."

Sarré slapped her arm around his waist and tugged him forward.  "Pick up the pace, soldier.  This I want to hear."

**********


End file.
